Warden's Keep
by WritingOutTheStorm
Summary: The beautiful sorceress Morrigan has developed feelings for the Grey Warden Ryder Cousland in spite of her best efforts to resist. Her mother’s best laid plans are beginning to unravel as Morrigan's barriers crumble. Or are they?
1. Chapter 1

Warden's Keep

Introduction

SPOILERS abound! Do not read this story if you haven't finished the game. Fair warning.

Clearly, I am not the only one affected by this game. Morrigan, courtesy of excellent writing (thank you, Bioware) and superior voice acting (thank you, Claudia Black), is perhaps the most fascinating, complex character ever to grace a video game. Strong-willed, dangerous, incredibly conflicted, and just as vulnerable, she is a brilliantly drawn product of her Flemeth-driven, sheltered environment. Power and survival are that which matter, all else she holds in contempt, because she has no experience with it, and Flemeth has told her so. Tentatively exploring her newfound freedom, she is equal parts confidence and insecurity, practicality and passion, logic and chaos, cynicism and innocence: struggling to find her own way and, thanks to our Grey Warden, discovering that all is not as Flemeth portrayed it. She is not "good" in the conventional sense, but it is her attempts to reconcile her Flemeth-fed world view with the Warden's more even-handed, less bitter perceptions that make her so much more interesting. Initially a reflection of her sinister mother's sensibilities, she is confused by the Warden's moral compass, yet unwilling to dismiss him. His personal power commands her respect, forcing her to reconsider all she knows. As she grows closer to him, the internal conflict escalates, creating a wonderfully tortured relationship.

Like others, I am compelled by my need for closure and a more satisfying outcome (to me, anyway), and so I write this as a fantasy/romance between the Warden and Morrigan. I tried to stay true to the spirit of the story and characters, if not actual events and authentic dialogue, with some Easter Eggs thrown in. Don't jump me for grammar or punctuation. Just take the story for what it's worth. I'm not an aspiring writer, just did it for fun.

The first part of the story is written as "recaps", introducing my Grey Warden and establishing decisions, events, and the evolution of the relationship as I perceived them (albeit with embellishments and a touch of poetic license). After that, the story continues. But, "Enough of this foolishness! 'Tis a waste of time to prattle on so." as Morrigan would say.

1.

"A Rogue By Any Other Name"

He was **not** a rogue, at least not as he characterized himself. No, he had never been a rogue… a brazen rascal, a rapscallion, a good-natured scoundrel, perhaps. He considered a rogue a ne'er-do-well, a blackguard intent on getting what he wanted no matter the cost. Often paid assassins and spies thinly veiled as wandering bards, rogues were indiscriminate thieves and devious fighters, preferring the "indirect" (and often poisonous) approach for their combat tactics. They were shadow-mongers, skulkers. He, on the other hand, had always been straightforward, even in his vices, which, he made no pretense about, were many. But he had never set out to hurt anyone intentionally. This was one of the few lessons his parents had taught that he took to heart.

He was an opportunist, to be sure, taking advantage of any favorable circumstance to further his own agenda. On more than one occasion, he had been known to use his nimble fingers to relieve some pompous windbag's chest of its "unnecessary" possessions. It had begun more as a game than a theft, really. Just to see if he could. Now he used his "appropriation" skills to further the war effort. But he never took anything from the poor, as he had no wish to prey on those less fortunate.

Spying was an art he had no interest in. He did not wish to live his life in shadow or at the behest of another. While he had never considered killing another human being for money, he could admit to a fascination with the Antivan Crows, the infamous order of assassins that effectively governed Antiva, if only for their superior fighting ability. Masters of duel weapon-wielding, the Crows had perfected the techniques of handling two weapons, becoming equally adept at attacking and defending, striking with speed and cunning, pinpointing the weakness of the enemy, and dealing mortal blows with precision and maximum efficiency. He admired the skill it took to achieve such deadly grace and set about learning to wield two daggers from an early age. He tried to learn as much as he could about the weaknesses of armor and beasts, kept his mind sharp, and trained with his father's guard until his reflexes were lightning-fast and he had become surprisingly proficient with sword and dagger in either hand. Recognizing the potential need for ranged combat, he also developed a strong affinity for the longbow, and by the time he was a young man, was quite capable of getting himself out of trouble…which he was quite skilled at getting himself into.

"Rogue." Maker knows he had grown sick of the word, given the number of times it had been applied to him. How many times had he been called that by the Highever Chantry priestesses hissing and chiding under their breaths, angry mothers and angrier fathers shouting in righteous indignation over their daughters' infatuations with him (and his attentions towards them.) He could not help it that the Maker had seen fit to grant him a stunningly attractive chiseled face with a strong jaw and intense brown eyes that seemed to devastate every woman who had ever had the misfortune to peer into them too long. His thick, shoulder length hair tumbled casually about his face without intention, stray locks meandering above his brow. His face wore the shadow stubble of a man who could not be bothered to shave regularly. Ryder did not, in fact, seek to be a dangerous sort of handsome, but was. He showed complete indifference to his rakish appearance and commanding physique, yet could not help but be aware that as he passed, the young girls giggled, the older girls whispered, the common women leered, and the old ones clucked their tongues in disapproval of his well-earned reputation. He had an even, easy temperament given to laughter, with a genuine self-deprecating air and clever wit that simultaneously disarmed and captivated those that met him. His confidence was born of success, not position, but unlike many of his station, at no time did it smack of arrogance. It did not hurt that he exuded a rare, persuasive charm which made it impossible to stay angry at him even when the wrath was well-deserved. One flash of his brilliant, mischievous grin melted even the hardest heart and softened the greatest ire.

It had always been that way…his ticket through life, a "free pass" that allowed him to live with the reckless abandon that had always characterized his existence. As a child he had reveled in chaos, pressing every boundary, exploring every forbidden secret, breaking every rule made to protect him. He was Ryder Cousland, the second son of the Couslands of the teyrnir of Highever, the most influential and powerful family in Ferelden after the King. He wanted for nothing, but it wasn't enough. He was not interested in taking the path expected of him as a Teyrn's son. It was not his nature to follow. He had been determined to find his own way and so he had, though he was never sure why he had felt so compelled to be so impossible. Perhaps it was that his older brother Fergus, had always been so good, so well-behaved, the pride of his father and the joy of his mother. He had loved and admired his brother always, but feeling unable and unwilling to compete, the rivalry became a competition for attention with Ryder's share being predominantly negative. It had never been his intention to cause heartache or be an embarrassment to his family, however successful at it he had become. He dearly loved his parents and they him, and in spite of the frequent troubles he had to be extracted from over the years, they always forgave him his transgressions and he always regretted the difficulties it caused them…until the next time something caught his attention that he simply could not refrain from doing. His father preached endlessly to him of responsibility and personal honor. But Ryder wanted no part of the former and found the latter to be too costly. Thus he indulged himself in his own personal gratifications at the expense of the family name. And so it had gone for him…unruly, incorrigible, irresistible, forgiven. Luckily, the Couslands were so well thought of in Highever and Ferelden, in general, that his misadventures were never given any great credence and he escaped any serious punishment. He was, simply, the black sheep of an otherwise well-respected and beloved family. The older son, Fergus, would be their redemption. He would bear the honor of the Couslands and carry on the grand tradition of the family, they whispered with knowing glances.

And that was fine with Ryder for 27 years. Until the day Arl Howe's men stormed his family's castle. Until the moment he was forced to decide whether to stay behind and die defending his parents or leave with Duncan and become a Grey Warden. Until the day everyone he loved was taken from him and everything he knew ended. Until the day he was forced to stop being a spoiled, self-indulgent child and become a man. He had a responsibility now. It was to avenge his family, to see justice done. He would become a Grey Warden and help defeat the Blight of darkspawn…but Howe would pay for what he had done. This he had sworn through gritted teeth and barely-withheld tears as the bitter taste of loss engulfed him. Howe would pay.

"Warden?" the soft sound of her voice pulled him back, snapping him out of his dark thoughts, "'Twas not my desire to anger you." He searched Morrigan's eyes trying to glean intent from her comment. She tended towards the sardonic and her meaning could frequently be construed twofold if one listened carefully enough. He often struggled to read her true design in even the simplest statements.

"I merely meant that your skills were put to good use today. As they are oft associated with the talents of a rogue, I used that term. Your dour look implies you mistake my meaning. I meant no insult," she said so matter-of-factly that he wasn't sure if she cared whether he believed her or not.

But as he sought some sign of deceit in those mesmerizing golden eyes, he decided she wouldn't have bothered if she didn't want him to believe her, and that she had truly meant no offense. When he knew she was being genuine, he felt himself relax, the scowl slowly fading from his features as he looked away for fear of losing himself in her eyes. Those eyes. Beautiful. Hypnotic. Intense. Dangerous.

He shook his head slowly, absolving her of any responsibility for his self-damning memories, "No," he finally blurted. "It's not you, it's me. I have…" he hesitated, debating whether to tell her of the guilt that tore at him every day since he had left his parents behind.

She knew little of his past and he had not felt inclined to tell her more for fear of falling victim to her ridicule. She belittled what she did not understand and there was so much she did not understand of love and family and duty. Lessons he, himself, had learned too late in his life, he thought ruefully. But that was a long time ago…an eternity it seemed, in but two months. Much had changed since then. **He **had changed much since then. He knew he had no excuse for his earlier shortcomings, but Morrigan…there was something about her that held him. She was incredibly beautiful, incredibly deadly, and, it seemed, incredibly unattainable in any real emotional sense.

-----

She had been raised by Flemeth, the infamous Witch of the Wilds. No one really knew who or what Flemeth was or even how long she had lived, but the stories were harrowing, and he could never get any confirmation from Morrigan that Flemeth was even human, much less her true mother. Such terrible tales were told of Flemeth's exploits that he found it remarkable Morrigan could even function socially at all. The others in the party were put off by her surface incivility and sharp tongue, choosing to see only what she presented to them. But he saw…something more. A vulnerability, maybe even an innocence, belied by her overtly cynical outlook…a longing to be something other than what Flemeth had made her, a yearning to understand what drove others to embrace the things she had always considered weaknesses. She rarely showed it and was quick to conceal it if she thought she had revealed too much, but he saw her conflict, her struggle to maintain her cool, oft-abrasive façade in the face of things she witnessed that challenged her belief system – Flemeth's corrupted view of the world. Morrigan believed in two things: survival and power. All else was folly to her – a waste of time and resources. It came off as callous to others who did not understand her thought processes, but to her it was simply a matter of practical, logical behavior. For reasons he could not yet understand, it was important to him to help her see that there were more rewarding things in life, to help her move past the emotional desert that must have been her childhood. How lonely she must have been.

Unlike the others, he had enjoyed her company all the while, though her demeanor toward him had always seemed less harsh than to the rest. She was clearly highly intelligent, quick-witted and clever in conversation, and always a mystery – one that he realized was too intriguing for his own good. He found he could not wait to speak with her again after each day's travails. It was not that he didn't value the others or find them interesting, and indeed, he looked after their welfare and spoke with them often, but by the Maker, Morrigan was so compelling he found himself nightly trodding the extra 50 yards or so to the campsite that she always set up away from everyone and spending an inordinate amount of time with her (at least as much as her capricious nature let him on any given day.)

He glanced up at her expectant face, she, waiting patiently for him to finish his thought. He swallowed hard and took a leap of faith that she would not heap scorn on his confessions of his own failures. And he told her everything, things he had been unable to speak of before to anyone else, all the while finding it strange that he should choose **her**, of all people, to bare his soul to – knowing that of all his companions, she was the most likely to crush him with the information. When he had finished, he waited, half expecting to be trampled by her acerbic wit, making light of his struggle with his past. A moment passed and when she spoke, it was not the derisive tone he had become accustomed to hearing when she sought to mock someone, it was gentle and soft and full of thought.

"You are the survivor of a terrible ordeal…a great…loss. It is only natural and expected that you would feel guilt, however undeserved. But I ask you to consider this. Did you think it would serve a purpose for you to stay and die with them? You are needed elsewhere. It would make no sense for you to lay down your life with those who raised you," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "One man against dozens of elite soldiers is a fool's odds, even for one such as you. I…do not pretend to have any experience with what you felt, but surely those you cared for you could not have wished this loyalty from you? Surely they saw the wisdom in preserving your life? I believe this must have been so. And as it is what they wished, then you must not punish yourself for following the only logical course of action. It is not you who killed your parents, it is Arl Howe. And the only possible response to that is to seek retribution for his crimes. I will help you in this, but for now, you must focus your energies on the darkspawn. You are a Grey Warden."

She continued, "As to my use of the word 'rogue', I did not speak it as an insult, nor was it my intent to injure, and you should not take it to mean such. It is but a word, and you are more than that, are you not, my Grey Warden?" She smiled at him now, and he felt something strike a chord deep inside him. "I have heard the word 'witch' hurled at me many times in the most accusatory and vicious manner possible, but it does not mean I am that which they assign to the term. A word does not define me. I am what I am, which is many things, and so are you. Do not let others take away from what you are. Be not afraid of a word. It is you who decides what you are and what you will be." Then she stopped abruptly, as if her own words had revealed something unexpected to her. She looked disconcerted.

The Warden's relief was palpable. He felt suddenly freed of a great burden. Touched by her words and the evident difficulty she had finding them, Ryder looked deep into her eyes and something undeniable passed between them. She flushed and stood, lamely asserting her need to rest before the next day's events. He rose to leave, but as she turned to enter her tent, he grabbed her hand. She turned to face him reluctantly, eyes averted to prevent him from seeing the confused emotions that clouded them. He lifted her chin to force her to look at him and said simply, his voice thick with feeling, "Thank you, Morrigan." Only the hint of fear in her eyes stopped him from kissing her then. He did not want her to withdraw from him, so he released her, and said, "Sleep well."

"I…you are…welcome," she managed weakly.

He turned to walk away, leaving her staring at his back and completely confounded.

He smiled as he strode back to his own tent, thinking, "She is afraid of me - afraid of herself." He had been right about her. Now he was sure of it. Underneath that aloof, confident, cynical exterior was a vulnerable, frightened, insecure young woman, inexperienced with the ways of the world, trying to bluff her way through her life. He would have to be patient with her, but he knew he could help her. He had never wanted a woman so much in his life.

Her pulse racing, Morrigan stumbled back into her tent, furious - furious with herself for losing control of the situation and furious with him for not kissing her. She was not sure which irked her most. "What manner of man is he?" she thought angrily. "'Tis clear he wants me, we have danced around each other for weeks, yet he does nothing! By the Gods!" She wanted him, but he brought up something in her she did not understand, something that made her uneasy. He was a maddening man. Morrigan had always been able to turn her encounters with men to her advantage, but this Warden was different from other men. She had recognized that immediately when she came across him searching for the Grey Warden treaties that fateful day in her beloved Korcari Wilds. He would not be manipulated like the others. Morrigan found herself smiling at this thought, surprised to find that she admired his strength of character, his inability to be manipulated. It would make things more difficult for her, of course, but somehow she didn't mind. It made the game more interesting, more challenging than she had anticipated.

She had found him stimulating company from the first, a worthy verbal sparring partner for her pointed and adversarial banter. The Warden was fair and even-handed in his handling of the group, and he always seemed interested in what she thought. He did not judge her for her views, even though she knew he disagreed often. Most amazingly, this Warden never seemed to care that she was an apostate. He was neither afraid nor contemptuous of her, and he shrugged off the risks he was taking sheltering her. He had told her once that he despised the manner in which the Chantry, Templars, and even the Circle, handled mages. He thought it wrong that a man's freedom should be a function of whether he commanded magic. Certainly mages who had used their skills for evil, calling forth abominations and such, should be dealt with for the safety of all, much as any other who used his abilities for ill. But to treat all mages as though they were criminals before they had ever done anything wrong, taking children from their parents, incarcerating them, hunting them down like animals should they choose not to embrace their imprisonment, turning them into emotionless Tranquils – he could not understand it or condone it. "Apostates were not automatically maleficar," he had insisted. She had been grateful for that, especially since one of his companions was a former Chantry novice and another had been a Templar and still clearly held contempt for her on the basis of her freedom alone. It could have been costly for him to come to her defense, but he did not hesitate to establish her as an equal member of the party and had quickly made it clear to all that the word 'apostate' did not exist in his camp. His companions had acquiesced to his wishes without consequence. Such was the respect he commanded. He was an exceptional leader who had kept them all alive thus far, and though she was loathe to admit it, together, they formed a powerful and effective team against the darkspawn. She had disapproved of his decisions less and less as time had passed, not because she would have acted the same, necessarily, but because she had grown to trust his judgment more. His responsibilities were great and she had decided to add to his burden as little as possible. There was much to admire about this man and she discovered that she genuinely liked her Grey Warden, in spite of her better judgment.

It had stunned her when he revealed himself to her. He must have known the likely response – he knew how she felt about such things…about weakness and emotion. Yet still, he trusted her with his demons. He had given her power over him, to wield as she wished. 'Twas a curious thing. And more curious still, that when she was granted this power, she felt no desire to berate him, to tear him down further. She had only wanted to console him and ease his pain. She was allowing him the very weaknesses she would not brook in herself. Yet, somehow, in him, she did not see these things as weaknesses…but that which made him stronger, that which was part of his makeup, that which made him who he was. 'Twas such a contradiction possible? It was all so…confusing. She had no experience with it.

She lay down in her tent, trying to calm her pounding heart. But try as she might, she could not stop thinking about him. "No, I am being foolish," she told herself angrily. She would have to be careful to protect herself. She could not afford to really care for him.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"Sleeping With The Enemy"

He lay in Morrigan's tent, her head on his chest, long raven hair flowing across his body. He stroked her hair absent-mindedly and felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. The last few months had been a blur. Darkspawn and more darkspawn. In between, there was coercion, intimidation, cajoling, and politicking to get help killing darkspawn. Morrigan had been his only reprieve - his only chance to forget all the terrible things that had happened, his escape. But while he allowed himself to fall down the emotional slope into caring for her, he knew she fought against it every second of the day, refusing to give in to sentiment, seeking only the physical gratification they found with each other. And he was saddened.

It was not as though she hadn't been forthright about her intentions where their affair was concerned. She had been almost…businesslike in the aftermath of their first time together.

Morrigan had said very matter-of-factly, "Know that I have no designs on your independence. I wish only to do what **I** desire, and if that coincides with what **you** desire, then so be it. Then, should you decide not to continue our misadventure, then so be it. 'Tis simple, is it not?"

He had been surprised by her candor, if not by her wishes, joking, "Shall we sign the documents now, so there can be no misunderstanding of our arrangement?"

She had allowed herself a slight smile, as if to acknowledge the formality of her declaration, but had made no effort to rescind her condition.

He had tried to gauge her feeling once after they had been together for a time, and she had reverted to her mercurial nature.

"What do you want, Morrigan?" he had asked her as they sat staring at the fire one night.

"What …do I want?" she had responded nervously.

"Surely you must have thought about it, what you want from life," he had continued.

She had relaxed slightly and answered, "'Tis foolish to think of such things. The future is written by the present. 'Tis useless to dwell on what **may** be. One should live for the moment, and leave what will come to tomorrow."

"And what does the present say about us?" he pressed, studying her for some sign.

She had paused, deciding how to answer what was obviously an uncomfortable question, before lapsing into her usual sardonic persona, "What is there to speak of? Do you wish me to tell you how wonderful you are? How one look from the great Grey Warden sends me into a fit of swooning?"

"Do you always have to be so evasive?" he cut her off, irritated, "I just want the truth. I just want to know what you think, how you feel, where this is going?"

"And what do you foresee? Marriage, children? Shall we settle in the countryside, you paint the shed, while I bake the bread?" she inquired sarcastically, folding her arms.

The Warden's countenance had darkened at her tone, "Do you really think that's what I want for you? For us?"

"Do you have something else in mind?" she demanded, exasperated, "**You** are the one who asked the question as if there were somewhere else for us to go."

He considered for a moment, and wondered whether there **was** somewhere for them to go. "If you don't want any of those things, then fine," he said, sighing.

"I…did not say **that** precisely, I…no. Never mind. You are a rather curious and…frustrating man. Is what you already possess not enough, must you always want more? Enough," she had dismissed him, "I grow tired of this topic, let us speak of it another time."

And he had left as confused as when he had arrived. He would have to content himself with what he already possessed for now.

-----

As the Warden's hand unconsciously ran through her silky hair, the ring caught his eye – the ring she had given him. It was a strange band, a twisted loop of rosewood, the grain of which seemed to shift and change from one moment to the next, taking on shapes reminiscent of animals and people. He smiled, thinking it embodied Morrigan perfectly - wild and complex, ever-changing, impossible to define, impossible to pin down. He had other, more powerful, magical rings that would have made his battles easier, but when she had presented it to him, so awkwardly, so determined to convince him it meant nothing…it had never occurred to him to remove it. She had offered it as a piece of equipment, a way to track the Grey Warden leader should he be separated from the group somehow. He had become too important to the war effort, she had asserted, that they should be unable to recover him. Originally created by Flemeth as a way to find Morrigan in the Wilds should hunters come for them, she had altered its magic. Now it would provide a connection between her and the Warden. When he had asked if he could use it to find **her**, she had become disconcerted. "I…do not know…perhaps," she had offered haltingly, as though the possibility had not occurred to her before. He had gotten the feeling that the idea upset her, though he could not be sure. He twisted the ring around his finger with his thumb, thinking that for all Morrigan's efforts to convince him otherwise, the ring meant something. What, exactly, was as big a mystery as she was.

-----

He thought back over the last weeks. He had survived the Grey Warden ritual Joining only to face a second betrayal at Ostagar that had cost his King and his mentor, Duncan, their lives. Teyrn Loghain, war hero turned traitor, had purposely withdrawn his forces from the battle, abandoning the King and the Wardens to their fate – certain death. Young Alistair and Ryder were left the only known remaining Wardens in Ferelden. They lived only by the will of Flemeth (who had rescued them for reasons only she knew) and lovely, distant Morrigan, who had nursed him back to health, and now fought and slept alongside him. They had formed a small band of fighters with varying skills to battle their way through the darkspawn and gather allies where they could, knowing their only hope of success lay in uniting the factions and races of Ferelden against the common enemy. A daunting task, to be sure, yet they had made progress…the dwarves of Orzammar had consented to help fight the Blight above ground as well as in the Deep Roads since Lord Harrowmont had been named King, and political stability, however fleeting, had been restored in Orzammar.

The Warden had even recruited the Circle of Magi to assist in their battle, though the trip there was made more harrowing by his refusal to risk Morrigan's life by parading her in front of the Templars of the Circle. He had left one of his most powerful allies behind when he needed her magic most. But it could not be helped. He would not allow the Templars to harm her. Morrigan had been defiant, insisting that he might need her **there**, of all places, "where the sheep were penned". She was contemptuous of the mages who allowed themselves to be held at the Tower (not that any of them had a choice in the matter) and referred to them as sheep for their complacency and seeming lack of will to be free. And if there was one thing Morrigan was **not** lacking, it was will. She was not afraid of the Templars and she was apprehensive about him going into such a place without a mage at his side with **his** best interests in mind. The Warden smiled at that. She was so adamant and so fearless. It was impossible not to admire her bravado in the face of insurmountable odds. When they recognized her as an apostate, she would have had no chance against a garrison of Templars (and he was still unsure if a certain former Templar would not have immediately alerted them to her presence, as Alistair and Morrigan's relationship remained…tense.) They would cancel out her magic and when she resisted capture (and he knew his fiery Morrigan would never let herself be imprisoned or made into a Tranquil), they would slay her on the spot. No, he would never let any harm come to her while he lived, and so he forbade her to go. **That** had been interesting, he thought, bemused by the memory.

Her eyes had flashed with anger, "Do not presume to order me about like some lackey. You are not my master and I not your slave," she had said icily through gritted teeth.

He had responded by grasping her shoulders, peering into her golden eyes earnestly, and saying in a low voice that no one else would hear, "You know that is not the case, but this subject is not open to discussion. You **will** stay here. I need you, and I will not let them take you."

"I…very well," she stammered, as her eyes and voice softened appreciably. Then she folded her arms as if attempting to regain the upper hand and offered, "But I think you are being a fool. You will regret not having a mage with you, mark my words."

He had started to say, "Yes, dear," but wisely thought better of it, and smiled as he walked away instead, realizing how narrowly he had escaped with his life by not uttering those words.

As the Warden was preparing to leave, he approached Morrigan to inform her of his decision to leave the golem Shale and Oghren behind with her and the warhound. She leaned in and whispered vehemently, "No, that will not do. The golem will annoy me endlessly with questions, and that obnoxious dwarf will not stop…**staring** at me lasciviously, leering with his tongue hanging out. 'Tis unnerving."

Oghren had just come up behind them and overheard Morrigan's complaint. He grinned, ear to mischievous, besotted ear, thinking the game afoot. "Heh! Heh!" he uttered in his trademark guttural tones. "It's not **my** fault you walk around half-dressed, leaving little to the imagination. What's a man to think?"

Morrigan retorted in an acidic tone, "'Tis precisely the point. You don't **think**. You drool."

Oghren chuckled again, "Aw, what's a little spittle between friends?"

The Warden interjected, "Would you rather I leave Alistair behind? You could discuss cooking techniques, or your mother, perhaps? I know how much you enjoy your chats with him."

She glared at him scathingly, but he continued bravely, "Or I could ask Leliana to stay. She would regale you with song, as bards are wont to do, and you could end your evenings with earnest tales of the Chantry," he added innocently, knowing full well his words would have the intended effect.

"Enough. Cease your irritating prattle. The golem and that corrupt little creature may stay, but I warn you, if the filthy dwarf so much as brushes against me, I shall turn him into a toadstool," she threatened, her brow furrowed. "'Tis obvious my choice for companionship while you are gone will be your mabari. At least **he** knows when to end his barking."

Shale had joined them, and upon hearing she would be staying in camp with Morrigan, was delighted, as there was much she wished to know about the witch and her magic, and saw this as an ideal time to make such inquiries, "Good. I have questions to ask the swamp witch of its magic," Shale stated flatly.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, sighing sarcastically to the golem, "I am breathless with anticipation," and turned to walk away.

Oghren chuckled. "Heh, heh, she's breathless. With anticipation," he muttered under his breath, nudging the Warden with his elbow.

Morrigan whirled angrily, snapping, "By the Gods, you disgusting little troll! Can I say nothing without you being…activated?"

He replied, "Heh, heh, she said activated. By the stone, you know what that means, eh, Warden?"

The Warden bit his lip, trying desperately not to laugh…and not to get involved.

Morrigan's eyes flashed and narrowed, "You are a stone's throw away from the end of your lecherous little life, dwarf," she growled menacingly.

Oghren shrugged, smiling, "You couldn't hurt me if you wanted to, witch, you know that?"

Morrigan eyed him skeptically, "'Tis so?"

Oghren folded his arms defiantly, and stated with certain impunity, "Dwarves resist magic, woman. There's nothing you could do."

Morrigan feigned surprise, "Nothing? I could not, for instance, kick you in your manhood?"

Oghren winced at the thought, "Oof."

"Do you wish to see?" she offered sweetly.

"Not necessary," he grumbled.

"Well the offer stands, should you change your tiny little mind," she replied batting her eyelashes in a disingenuous manner. Then she smirked triumphantly, spun on her heel, and stormed off, huffing and muttering something about a toadstool. Shale lumbered behind, already issuing her questions to Morrigan's back.

The Warden turned to Oghren, determined not to encourage him, but unable to be angry at his antics, "It would be better if you watched how much you tease Morrigan…she's dangerous when antagonized."

Oghren winked and said, "Sure, Warden, sure. I know she's taken, I'll leave her alone. I was just funnin' with the witch. She gets so riled, it's sodding great entertainment."

The Warden laughed, secretly proud of Morrigan for holding her own against the dwarf's constant innuendo. Giving her one last glance, he departed for the Tower, thinking ruefully that between Oghren and Shale, he would likely have much to account for when he returned.

-----

Morrigan thought she might very well thin the ranks of their group herself before the Warden could return.

Oghren had been relatively well-behaved (she was sure the Warden had said something to him), though there had been one incident while they were gathering firewood that had nearly cost him his drunken little life. He had made the grave mistake of placing his hand on her hip.

"Lay one hand on me again, dwarf, and it will be your last," she had snarled, whipping around to face him.

Oghren looked sincere but she could not be sure, as it was more in his nature to take liberties than to be sincere. "Tripped on a rock. You don't want me to break my neck, do ya?" he asked innocently.

"The prospect would not trouble me overmuch," she replied flatly.

"Heh. You sound just like Branka," Oghren chuckled.

"Then I commend her good sense. But this is the last time I will tell you: touch me no more," Morrigan growled.

"That's what **she** said," he countered good-naturedly.

After that he had been of minimal concern, but Shale…Shale questioned her incessantly about magic, her life in the Wilds, and about her relationship with **him**. This creature's curiosity knew no bounds. Would that she could have summoned a flock of very large birds to drive it off, she would have. But it was not the sheer volume of inquiries that had troubled Morrigan so. It was the perceptiveness that had shocked her. The golem was insightful in a way the others were not. It made her wary of the stone giant. She had been cornered earlier that day and caught by surprise.

"So I take it that the swamp witch and the Grey Warden are... intimate?" Shale had asked bluntly. "I am simply curious as to whether or not it bewitched the Grey Warden."

Morrigan had scoffed, "I have no need to force anything from men."

Shale had responded, "Oh? My apologies then. I was about to offer my congratulations for a task accomplished."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, uncertain where the conversation was heading.

"The swamp witch desires something from it," Shale spoke matter-of-factly.

Morrigan decided she would not be outmaneuvered by a stone creature, so she decided to answer lightly, "From what? Ah... you mean from **him**. And if I do? What of it?"

"It is aware of the swamp witch's true nature?" Shale had inquired snidely.

"Let me guess. You **know** my true nature?" Morrigan asked sarcastically.

Shale responded haughtily, "I have spent a great deal of time observing the world. I know what I see when I see it."

Morrigan smiled triumphantly before dismantling her verbal opponent, "You spent thirty years watching whatever a small village was willing to parade in front of your eyes. Do not cast yourself as the worldly sage. At best you are a barely-working statue with a poor memory and a poor attitude. Do not seek to begin judging me."

"Hmph. Perhaps it has a point," Shale had begrudged.

Morrigan walked away feeling vindicated, but it had been enough to make her realize she must be more cautious. And she fully intended to give the Warden a difficult time for leaving her behind with these two fools.

-----

He had been lucky that as he made his way into the Tower, the Spirit Healer mage, Wynne, had been there and been willing to join their party to help destroy the abominations that held the Tower. Morrigan had been right about him needing a mage, though he had decided not to give her any satisfaction by admitting it. He had braced himself for a glacial reception when he returned to camp almost a week later. When they stepped into the clearing, his mabari hound, Hunter, began barking wildly and ran to him, bouncing about and twirling with excitement. Kneeling to pet the faithful beast, his searching eyes found her familiar form kneeling by the fire. As her head snapped up at the sound of commotion, her eyes lit up and a radiant smile spread across her lips which he had never seen before. "Maker, she was beautiful," he had thought.

Forgetting her irritation with him for being left behind, she ran to him, stopping a few feet short, as if realizing he might gain some advantage over her if she appeared too eager to see him. Regaining her composure, she spoke as casually as possible, hoping he could not hear her heart pounding as loudly as it seemed to her, "You are back! All went well, I hope? Have we more allies against the darkspawn?" Her breathlessness belied her attempt at calm.

He had grinned broadly, recognizing her unsuccessful bid at nonchalance. "Yes, all is well. The Circle has agreed to send a contingent of mages against the archdemon."

"Thank the Maker for Wynne here. If she hadn't been there, I don't know that we'd have made it," Alistair had chimed in "Really, Wynne you are a magnificent mage. We're lucky to have you!"

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, "Hmmmph!" Folding her arms, she glared at the Warden with the most withering 'I-told-you-so' look she could muster.

The Warden rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and derisively thought, "Thanks, Alistair."

After what seemed an eternity to the Warden, Morrigan decided he had been made sufficiently uncomfortable under her wilting gaze, and she redirected her attention to the older woman who was apparently joining their party. Morrigan was not at all happy about this development. She knew her value to the group lay in her unique abilities and she had no delusions that she was wanted or needed for any other reason. Except for the Warden, she had made no effort to befriend anyone, and Wynne's arrival threatened her existence here. If they decided they didn't need two mages…

"Are you certain the Circle can do without one of their sheep for any period of time?" she sneered at Wynne, "Or did your First Enchanter decide to dispatch you to watch the apostate in our little group? And another thing. Are you not a bit old for this duty? Fighting darkspawn can be quite strenuous, you know. Did you bring some Templars along to assist, so you do not strain yourself overmuch?" she ventured over-sweetly.

"No dear, I feel I am quite a capable old ewe with a few years left under the wool. As to the Templars, I did not bring any, but I would be more than happy to return for some if you'd like," she responded, just as syrupy as Morrigan.

"Ah, the old cat still has her claws, I see. Well, I have claws as well, old woman. Would you care to see them?" she growled threateningly.

The Warden quickly stepped in to prevent this from turning into a full-scale magical conflagration. Sensing Morrigan's discomfort and correctly guessing why, he spoke in his most conciliatory tone, "Morrigan, Wynne helped us when we needed her. She is a powerful healer who will be a valuable asset. She is not here about you and we need all the help we can get, whether mage, warrior, or…rogue," he finished, with a sparkle in his eye. She caught his reference to himself and smiled a half-smile, signaling he had placated her for now.

"I'll find better ways to appease her later," he had thought. And he had smiled in anticipation.

-----

He stroked her hair lazily, and smiled, remembering how pleased she was when he had given her the Black Grimoire that she had asked for. He enjoyed giving her little gifts more than the others, valuing her approval the most, and this one meant a great deal to her. He was sure her sheltered existence had yielded few, if any, tokens of appreciation, and he could not imagine Flemeth being the sort of mother to give them anyway. In fact, the Warden had probed her about her life as a shapeshifting child of the wood and how she fared living so isolated from others. Morrigan had admitted that sometimes she would secretly watch the townsfolk from the edge of the forest, admiring the exquisite jewelry and baubles that adorned their lives. Once she had stolen a beautiful golden mirror engraved with frolicking deer and birds from a villager, and the moment Flemeth had seen it, she had smashed it to the ground, berating the girl for her foolishness over such meaningless trifles. Morrigan had tried to justify her mother's cruelty with a feeble, "Of course, she was right to do so. Such things are useless, a weakness of mind, not to be dwelled upon." But he had seen the pain she had allowed to creep into her eyes when she remembered the incident. And he had felt for her. What it must have been like to grow up the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds, to have lived 24 years in such an environment.

It had thrilled him to find the golden mirror in Orzammar, knowing it was so similar to the one Flemeth had taken from her. It was the first of many gifts he would give to her, and he was the most pleased to give her this one, grinning broadly as he had offered it.

Morrigan had seemed stunned, and then suspicious. "It is incredible that you found one so like the one Flemeth smashed to the ground so long ago. I am uncertain what to say," she said haltingly. Then her face changed as though she now understood the game. "You must wish something in return, certainly," she had finished cynically.

The Warden shook his head sadly at her distrust, "It's simply a gift, for a beautiful woman. When I saw it, it reminded me of the one you told me you had as a child. I thought you might like it. That's all. I want nothing from you."

She had looked disconcerted. "I…have never received a gift…not one that did come with a price attached. I suppose I should say thank you…for the gift…'tis most thoughtful…truly," she managed awkwardly.

He had smiled, enchanted by her artlessness, wanting to take her in his arms even then, wanting to erase her terrible memories and the influence Flemeth still wielded over her. But he had waited for her, and now she lay sleeping in his arms. The Warden closed his eyes to forget about another day and, if he was lucky, dream of Morrigan.

-----

Morrigan was not sleeping, though she had allowed him to think so. She had worried for him while he was gone, feeling helpless and ill at ease. 'Twas a terrible, weak sensation and she despised it. The besotted dwarf Oghren, the acid-tongued golem Shale, and Ryder's mabari since childhood had stayed behind with her. She had hoped he would at least take the hound with him. Fierce and surpassing loyal to the Warden, the beast had grown on her, and she trusted it more than any of the others to shield him from harm. But he had insisted on leaving the dog with her for the same reason…he trusted it to look after her. She had called him a fool for doing so, of course, but had secretly been flattered that he would leave his beloved companion to guard her.

Morrigan had hated being left behind. She preferred to be by his side where she could control the situation, where she could be sure he was protected. She still did not trust that whining fool Alistair to look after the Warden, but at least Sten was proving a fighter worth his rations, always focused on the task, and devoted to his 'kadan'.

Insipid Leliana, with her cow-eyed, soulful looks in his direction, was too busy mooning over him to be of any great use protecting him. It still irked her no end that the Orlesian girl would not give up on the Warden, and he was too honorable (and naïve) to see it. He thought of her only as a friend, she believed, but Leliana seemed determined to make it something more, even while he shared his bed with Morrigan. She had warned the Orlesian that she did not share her possessions, but the girl seemed incapable of taking a hint, preferring to maintain an innocent, if unconvincing, façade. Morrigan had considered asking him to make Leliana leave the party, but as selfish as she could be, especially where it came to her Warden, she knew that they truly needed all the assistance they could get to defeat the Blight. "If only the darkspawn could be bored to death, then Leliana would be of some real value," Morrigan thought, smirking. But the smile faded from her face as she soberly recalled why she was there, and she knew that he would need the comfort of his friends when it was over. Maybe the Orlesian girl could be of some use after all, she had thought bitterly.

"But he is back now," Morrigan thought, "and he is with me." Their relationship had intensified since his return from the Tower. It frightened her and she was unable to sleep. She thought back to the first time they lay together. She had decided there was no reason that their adventures had to be without some small pleasures. The Warden was exceedingly handsome and she wanted him. There was no reason they couldn't enjoy each other while they accomplished their ends, was there? So, in spite of his curious reluctance to initiate that which she knew he desired, she had invited him into her tent. 'Twas confusing and, at the same time, pleasing, that he should hesitate. But the Warden had asked her if she was sure it was what she wished. He had been genuinely concerned for her feelings. It made her crave him all the more and she took his hand and pulled him into her tent.

When they rose the next morning, Morrigan's mood had been playful, "I see the stories they tell of Grey Warden endurance are not exaggerated," she purred coquettishly.

"There are…stories?" he stammered.

She laughed alluringly, "Indeed there are. The unanswered question, of course, is whether the endurance exists because of the taint within you, or because the Grey Wardens are, by nature, so very…healthy. I enjoy the thought that 'tis a little of both – natural prowess driven by a dark side."

The Warden was never given to embarrassment, especially in the company of women, but her boldness surpassed even his own, and he felt his face burn. A mistake…Morrigan saw this and pounced with great joy at the discomfort she had caused him. "Come now, my Grey Warden, surely your many adventures with women have not left you still able to blush? Surely 'tis **I** who should be aflutter, no? You are a Grey Warden, so virile and manly, and I but an innocent waif of the Wilds," she teased relentlessly.

Knowing he stood little chance in this particular battle, having already lost it, he had decided to withdraw as gracefully as she would let him. "I have…preparations to make," he murmured lamely, silently cursing himself for his completely **ungraceful** attempt to exit.

Morrigan chuckled, bemused, "So, finished with me now, are you? Well, you do not get away so easily as that. I will have my way with you until **I** am satisfied."

He tried to regain the upper hand, "Continue and you will find your tent quite cold hence forth," he asserted, one eyebrow raised, arms folded.

She drew breath in mock surprise, "Spurned! Whatever shall I do?"

Then she laughed, her merriment satisfied, and completely charmed by his unexpected awkwardness, she had wrapped her arms about his neck, pulled him closer, and whispered seductively in his ear, "I think, perhaps, I am not done with you yet."

-----

They had spent every night together since, sometimes talking, sometimes making love, and sometimes he just held her. Morrigan was unprepared for this. She was losing control and yet she felt unable to stop…was unwilling to stop. She had thought herself stronger. What had he done to her? As she lay there, contemplating what was to come, Morrigan was filled with dread – for both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"The Brothers Grimoire"

"It must have been very difficult for you and your mother, Morrigan, to live always hiding from the Chantry and its hunters," Wynne said sympathetically, "Surely you must have drawn notice from time to time. No matter how powerful you claim to be, you would not wish the full attention of the Chantry."

"Hunters did come into the Wilds from time to time. They…did not leave," Morrigan stated flatly, resenting the pitying tone of Wynne's inquiry.

Wynne persisted, "And the interest of the Chantry was never aroused? I find that difficult to believe."

Morrigan sighed, annoyed at the superior tone the old woman had taken, "I imagine you find many things difficult to believe. Your own preference for the leash you wear, for instance."

"There are good reasons for the world to fear mages, even despite our best intentions," Wynne answered, seeking to justify the Circle and the Chantry's policies.

Morrigan eyed her for a few moments before cutting to the chase, "You do not approve of me, do you? And you also do not approve of my involvement with our stalwart Grey Warden."

Wynne decided to be blunt in return, "You are dangerous, Morrigan. Dangerous, cunning, and thoroughly deceitful. But you are beautiful, and he is trusting. It's a pity he doesn't know any better."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but Morrigan chose to be coy, "Why, Wynne, I do believe that is the first time you have ever offered a compliment. Thank you."

"Only you would take that as a compliment," Wynne answered smugly.

Morrigan lashed out, "Listen, old woman. what happens between myself and him is not your concern. You can approve or disapprove as you wish, but this is one thing you cannot influence and mold to your liking!"

Wynne remained calm, " So you say. I do hope that one day soon you will discover that neither is he."

Morrigan was livid at the old woman for interfering where she did not belong. "You mistake my intent, old cat. And you are a fool," she said icily.

"Am I?" Wynne asked genuinely. "Well, let's hope so, " she finished to herself, as Morrigan had already stalked away.

-----

Morrigan seemed engaged in active conversation with the mabari when Ryder came up behind them. He had wondered if her shapeshifting abilities had given her the capacity to understand his hound, as they seemed to have a unique relationship, and she often spoke to the dog as though he were a person, but he was certain she only pretended to dislike him.

He could hear her reply softly in mock irritation to Hunter's whining, "Another? I just gave you one, fool dog." The dog whined more insistently.

"Perhaps you should go and hunt something, then. For a warrior beast, you are remarkably over dependent." His mabari barked excitedly.

"Oh very well, but tell no one," she acquiesced, looking about to make sure no one was watching in the main camp before giving him his favorite herb and scratching the hound behind the ears. "Silly beast," she purred, thinking herself alone as she watched the mabari trot off. When she looked up, she found Ryder staring at her, grinning, with a smug look in his eye.

"Why do you stare at me thus with that fool look on your face?" she scolded him indignantly, knowing full well she had been caught in an act of kindness that contradicted her hard-earned reputation. She flushed, and stammered, "I…had to get rid of the flea-ridden hound somehow, didn't I?"

He stepped in, put his hand around her waist, and pulled her closer, whispering in her ear, "You don't fool me." Then he kissed her.

She finally pushed him away gently. "There is something I must speak to you about," Morrigan declared haltingly.

"Of course," he said, offering her his most dazzling smile.

For a moment she was transfixed by his gaze, and then she regained her composure. "Damn him," she thought, more irritated with herself than him, "why must he have this effect on me?"

"I have been studying the Black Grimoire you brought me from the Circle Tower, and I have discovered it…'tis not what I thought," Morrigan informed him. She proceeded to explain that the book did not contain the secrets of Flemeth's magic, as she had expected, but the secret to Flemeth's seeming immortality. Through some dark magic, Flemeth had somehow been assuming the bodies of her "daughters", real or kidnapped, for centuries, living out **their** lives, and when the witch had aged, she would confiscate her next victim. Morrigan stared blankly at the fire as she confided to him that she believed it was Flemeth's intention to take her next.

It was too fantastic to conceive, but Morrigan seemed genuinely shaken…and afraid – something the Warden had not witnessed in all the time he had known her. And there had been much to fear. They had faced all manner of foul beast, demon abomination, and darkspawn horde, yet he had never seen her anything but resolute and courageous as she confronted it. But she was clearly unnerved. He found himself believing her.

Morrigan proceeded cautiously, "I…would ask you a favor."

With that, she beseeched him to slay Flemeth and retrieve Flemeth's **real** Grimoire. Though she was not sure her mother could even be killed, she felt it was the only way to gain the time she needed to protect herself from Flemeth's plan. And for that, she would need the true Grimoire. She explained that she could not accompany him as she feared Flemeth would steal her form then and there, and, as of yet, she had no protection against her mother's plot. Her entreaty was so desperate, so heartfelt, he was compelled to agree to it, in spite of his misgivings. He wanted to help her, and in fact, would do whatever he could to protect her, but in truth, he was unsure he wanted to kill Flemeth. The old witch had saved him and Alistair from certain death in Ostagar, and while he was disgusted by all else he had heard about the woman, he felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of slaying her. The conflict must have shown on his features, as she recognized his internal struggle.

"Do you think you **owe **my mother, then? Do not believe that Flemeth does anything without a reason. She did not save you as a charitable act. She knows no charity. She knows only power and survival, and she will do whatever pleases her to achieve them. I have seen many things you could not dream of, Warden - terrible, unimaginable things. What I require of you **is** necessary, and if you value my life you will do as I ask," she implored.

He searched her eyes, and knew he could let no harm come to her. If she was manipulating him, then so be it. Flemeth **was** an abomination and should have been slain centuries ago. This was undeniable.

"I will do this for you, Morrigan," he said gently, "you will be free. We will leave in the morning."

She found herself unable to speak then, and turned away. "I…am grateful," she finally whispered, her back to him.

As he stepped forward to take her in his arms, she tensed, and stated, "Perhaps you should get some rest before you leave. It will be an arduous journey."

Puzzled at her reaction, he retreated, "Goodnight, Morrigan."

"Sleep well, Warden," she returned.

He never saw the lone tear that streamed down her cheek as he walked away.

-----

Flemeth's hut was deep in the Korcari Wilds, and when they finally reached it, his mind was flooded with memories of Morrigan - of their first meeting, how she had boldly challenged him, how she had nursed him back to health when he had nearly been killed at the Tower of Ishal. It strengthened his resolve.

Flemeth had witnessed his approach. "And so you return. Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?" Flemeth smiled with malevolent undertones.

The Warden felt a chill run down his spine, "We know your little secret Flemeth. Morrigan knows how you extend your unnatural lifespan."

Flemeth responded ambiguously, "Ah, but it is an old, old story. One that Flemeth has heard before and even told. Would you slay me now, or does the tale take a different turn?"

"I want the truth," the Warden said, his eyes narrowing.

Flemeth laughed derisively, "The truth he says, as if it were nothing. No, no, far better the lie. Far better the comfort of blankets and shadows and a mother's love. Morrigan wishes my Grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain."

The Warden, trying to read her twisted intent, ventured, "And if I let you live, what will you do?"

Flemeth rejoined with an innocence the Warden knew she did not possess, "Why, I will disappear. Or perhaps I will look in on my Morrigan and see what she does with her newfound freedom."

Alarmed by the sinister implication, and convinced of Flemeth's foul intentions, he refused, "No. You will plague Morrigan's life no more, witch. Your hold on her ends now."

Flemeth smiled a vicious, corrupt smile. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Come. 'Tis a dance Flemeth knows well. Let us see if she can remember the steps," she challenged.

She raised her arms, and a bright glow appeared around her. Within moments, the frail old woman that had been Flemeth was no more, and in her place towered a high dragon. It was the most enormous and horrific creature the Warden had ever seen, and he momentarily froze in awe. His hesitation nearly cost him his life as a giant tail came whipping around and almost took off his head. He rolled away, quickly regaining his senses and shouting orders to the others, "Alistair, strike at her underbelly, and keep your shield up! Leliana and Wynne, separate! Stay clear of the tail, and keep your distance! Wynne, concentrate on your ice and stone hammer spells! Leliana, use your ice arrows! Keep moving and avoid the fire at all costs!"

He unsheathed Asturian's Might, the great Warden Commander's sword, and charged to the front of the great beast, barely dodging the dragon's great fore claw as he pulled out Starfang with his other hand. He positioned himself under the neck, striking with both weapons, trying to prevent Flemeth from gaining an angle that would allow her to burn him with her fiery emissions. Slashing and hacking and moving, they attacked her from all angles - Leliana firing precision shots and Wynne trying to slow her and damage her, constantly healing the others as they took the dragon's blows. Nearing exhaustion and bloodied to the point of collapse, the Warden and his band pressed on, until the fearsome Witch of the Wilds at last fell to her knees and let out a roar. The Warden leapt onto her head and drove his sword deep into Flemeth's skull. The creature sank to the ground, releasing a great rush of air from its lungs. It was over, he thought as he fell back to the ground, his fatigue finally overwhelming him. As his companions recovered and treated their wounds, the Warden closed his eyes and felt himself smile with relief. She was safe.

-----

Morrigan's anxiety increased as each day passed, not for herself, but for him. Had she sent him to his death? She genuinely felt that the Warden was the only hope she had to survive Flemeth's plans for her, and her admiration for his abilities and leadership was unsurpassed, but she knew that Flemeth's power was beyond even **her** understanding, and she could not be certain he would prevail. The thought that **she** might be responsible for his death troubled Morrigan greatly. Another emotion she had no experience with – guilt. She tried to dismiss the thought and the emotion, but they persisted, and by the end of the sixth day, she was considering going after him, foolhardy as she knew it would be. The mabari broke the silence of her brooding, barking excitedly. Her heart jumped in her chest. Morrigan was afraid to hope, afraid that the others might return and he would not be among them. She made herself walk slowly to the site of the clamor.

Relief swept over her so powerfully when she saw him that she thought her knees might give way. They had returned. Her Warden had returned. He would not have done so had they not found and killed Flemeth. It was over, at least for now. He had given her time, time to defend herself.

When he saw her standing away from the others, he grinned broadly, strode up to her, handed her the real Grimoire, and took her by the shoulders, "It's over, Morrigan, we killed her. Flemeth can't harm you anymore."

She released herself from his grip slowly and stepped away, "She is not dead. She is merely weakened. You have slowed her purpose."

"What?" the Warden said incredulously. "But I thrust a sword through her, I killed her I know it."

"No," Morrigan answered sadly. "You saw what she wanted you to see. She is a master of illusion and manipulation. She allowed you to think you had killed her to permit her to escape and regain her strength. But you have weakened her considerably, and you have given me the time I need to learn how to prevent Flemeth from stealing my body in the future. For she will be back one day, I have no doubt of that. I will study the Grimoire to learn her secrets and unlock the power that it holds. And if I cannot protect myself, I will track her down myself in whatever body she inhabits and she will die again and again, if need be. I will not be a host for Flemeth - not now, not ever. But there is no need to think of such things now. I have you to thank for saving me, so let us return to the task of dealing with the darkspawn, no?"

"I will always protect you, Morrigan, I will always keep you safe," the Warden said earnestly, hoping she would feel the gravity of his words.

"I…you should not be so…you have no idea what will happen in days to come to make such promises, " Morrigan had said, her beautiful features revealing something he could not define…irritation? Pain? And then recovering herself, she had added distantly, "Let us go, there is much to be done before…there is still much to be done." And she left him to thank the others.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"Dancing to a Different Tune"

She sat at her campfire that night, waiting for him to come to her as he always did. She could not understand why he moved her so. He was just a man, like any other…no, not like any other, she acknowledged, in truth. She thought 'twas strange that she should be in this position – she was the one who'd always been so calm and cool, no lover's fool, running every show.

The Warden had risked everything for her. Morrigan could no longer deny she had feelings for him, confused as they were. What she did with those feelings, however, was another matter. She knew she should end it, but felt helpless to do so. This foolish weakness robbed her of her power, and she was filled with self-loathing. She seemed incapable of making the simplest decisions. Her sleep was disrupted, her appetite uneven, and he haunted her thoughts constantly. How could anyone enjoy this sensation? But there were times when she felt…different – warm and safe and…no. She could not allow it. She must break free. But she would need help to do it. Perhaps if she could get him to dismiss her, to hurt her, it would be easier to do what must be done. He had never spoken of his feelings to her, but he had asked pointed questions that, she thought, revealed more than a casual interest. And the way he looked at her sometimes, made her feel….she would speak to him. She **must** speak to him.

"I wish to ask a question of you, "Morrigan began formally. "I wish to know your opinion of…love."

She had asked it so devoid of emotion, he might have been a student answering a question from a tutor. "My…opinion?" He answered, wondering what she wanted or needed to hear from this line of questioning.

"You and I have been…intimate, for one. We have been…close for some time now. You are…impressive in many ways and you even protected me from Flemeth without hope of reward. I…feel…anxious when I look upon you. I dislike this sense of dependency 'Tis a weakness I abhor. If…if this is love, I wish to ascertain that you do not feel the same."

He was at a loss for words. She was admitting caring for him, but despising herself for it. How he handled the next few moments might determine the outcome of their relationship, if they had any hope of one. He had shown great patience with her, knowing her past, but now she was forcing his hand. And as he looked into her determined, resolute eyes, he had the uneasy feeling that she had made up her mind, no matter how he responded to her. He chose his words carefully, "What are you saying?"

"You need to pay attention," she snapped, irritated. "What I'm saying is that I have been foolish. I have allowed myself to become too close. This is a weakness," she finished, arms folded.

"Love is not a weakness," he returned gently.

"You are not listening to me, do not be such a fool! This is for your own good. I would not…I am not like other women. I…am not worth your distraction, and you…" she paused, not wanting to hurt him, but feeling she must to make him step away," are not worth mine."

He winced imperceptibly, but refused to give up, saying adamantly, "You **are** worth my distraction."

"I…you are impossible! Have it your way. But I will tell you truly now. You will regret it in the end," she had warned him sadly.

He did not understand her ominous tone, but couldn't help feeling apprehensive. He left Morrigan alone then, thinking he might have already lost her.

His attempts at intimacy had been rebuffed after that. She was still friendly to him in their other dealings, but she became angry when he approached her for anything more. When he had asked if something was wrong, she had lashed out sarcastically, "Hunh! Because something must be amiss with me in order to refuse your charms? You'll have to forgive me if I don't leap at your commands like a trained mabari warhound!"

He was taken aback by the venom in her response. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry, nor do I expect you to leap at my commands."

"It…I simply…I do not wish to discuss it. Leave me be," she had returned with finality.

And he had retreated, wondering what else he could say. He was running out of options. Perhaps he would never reach her. She was so afraid.

-----

They had just departed the Brecilian Forest, having secured the services of the Dalish elves in the war against the Blight. The Warden had freed them from the werewolf curse that had plagued the Dalish and taken so many of their people. They were fine archers and brave, wandering warriors. They would be of invaluable assistance in the days to come. Only Redcliffe remained on his agenda of allies to gather, and Arl Eamon would support them, Alistair was sure.

As they made their way west, they had been ambushed by a band of assassins led by an Antivan Crow, intent on killing the Warden. Zevran Arainai was a smooth-talking, amoral rogue, with a dark past and a darker present. The Warden defeated him, but he had been impressed by the assassin's fighting skill, and Zevran convinced him he was done with the Crows and would like to join their cause. The Warden was no fool, and, given his own wily past, felt he could gauge the sincerity of the elf. He had decided to give Zevran a chance.

The others had been aghast at his decision. The Warden had thought Alistair would swallow his tongue, explaining slowly, "He….tried…to kill….you," as if the Warden had not understood what had transpired.

But Morrigan had been the most upset of all, and he wasn't sure that she wasn't going to finish the job Zevran had been unable to. "Have you gone mad!!!?!? This pathetic assassin was hired by the Crows…the Antivan Crows! Even in the Wilds their reputation is known! You are inviting your own death into our midst! Do you think that they will give up as easily as that? That **he** will give up so easily?" She glared scathingly at Zevran as he rose, dusting himself off.

"I assure you, most beautiful lady, my desire to leave the Crows far exceeds the fear I possess of them," Zevran entreated, "I will be of no trouble to you, my dear."

"I do not believe you, assassin," she replied, witheringly.

"Enough, I have made my decision," the Warden had ended the discussion. It was not that the Warden trusted him, and he would be monitored, but they needed all the help they could get, and Zevran had appeared to answer all his questions truthfully and fully. It was most troubling that Loghain had seen fit to hire an assassin to kill him, but it also showed that they were making enough progress that Loghain had become fearful of their success. Things were coming to a head soon. They would certainly have to be more aware.

Morrigan had made it her personal mission to watch the Antivan for any sign of treachery. She would not let him harm the Warden at any cost. Perhaps she could glean his true intent if she questioned him away from the others.

"So what is going to keep you from poisoning your target now that you have been allowed to accompany us, I wonder?" she inquired sweetly.

"You are. You will be watching me ever so closely to make sure I attempt no such thing," Zevran answered knowingly.

She eyed him suspiciously. He was clever, this one. "And why would I do such a thing? Sneaking into our good graces in order to make another attempt is what I would do, were I you," she continued, trying to bait him.

"And here I was becoming rather fond of the idea of you watching me closely," he pouted exaggeratedly.

"It would be a simple enough matter to poison the food in camp. Or cut our throats while we sleep," Morrigan continued her thought.

"You seem rather charmed by the idea," Zevran noted sardonically.

"It would seem an appropriate result of sparing your life," she smirked. "You do still intend to kill your target, do you not? Is your reputation not on the line? I am led to believe that the Crows would never permit such a transgression. They will come after you, and in force," she warned, with mock sympathy.

Zevran chuckled, "It has come to my attention that the Crows are not always successful when pitted against Grey Wardens and their companions."

"Perhaps they will send someone competent next time," she responded ascerbically.

"You wound me," Zevran answered piteously.

Morrigan gave him a threatening look that would have cowed even the bravest man. "I have considered doing far more than that, trust me," she returned, her tone menacing.

Zevran began to feel uncomfortable under her stare and tried to change the subject, "Such sinister glares do you a disservice, dear Morrigan. Yours should be a face that smiles." He tried his most charming approach.

"Do tell," she sneered indifferently.

"Has no one told you? Perhaps that is not surprising, considering you have lived such a sheltered life. Were you a woman of the city, you would be accustomed to men showering you with praise and gifts." Zevran thought perhaps she could be cajoled into relaxing her demeanor around him. He did not know her very well.

"I know as much of men as I need to. I know when one is indulging in pointless flattery, for instance," Morrigan read his intentions, and stopped him before he could accelerate his charms.

Realizing his folly, Zevran abandoned the plan, "Ah, Morrigan. Beautiful, lonely Morrigan. One day you will realize that you have wasted your youth and beauty on bitterness and suspicion, mark my words."

His prediction chilled her, and tossing him an angry scowl, Morrigan stalked off to her camp.

The Warden had drawn encouragement from Morrigan's reaction to Zevran's joining the group. The severity of her anger belied her attempts to distance herself from him. Perhaps there was still hope. He approached her camp, heart in his stomach, and tried to talk to her about their situation.

"Ah," Morrigan said morosely, as if she had been expecting this conversation, " I am…not certain what to say. I warned you, did I not? I told you that this was a weakness that was driving me mad, and yet you insisted."

He searched her eyes for some clue to what his next words should be, "Do you really want to stop?"

"Yes!...No…I do, and...and yet…I cannot," she said, shaking her head ambivalently.

"I don't need these sorts of games, Morrigan," he responded, frustrated by her ambiguity. Months of confusion and uncertainty had taken its toll, and he had been unable to keep his patience.

"And I am not the sort who believes in such games, yet you…bring out that desire in me. 'Tis no excuse is it? This is not how a normal woman acts. I can see it in your eyes," she lamented, her distress moving him.

The Warden pressed gently, "Why are you so frightened of this?"

She tried to put it into words that he could understand…that **she** could understand,

"'Tis all so unexpected. I have no experience with any of it. And yet I find myself wanting it…hungering for it…for you."

She seemed to regain her resolve. "Release me. Tell me that you wish to end this. Make me believe you and I…will be grateful, " she beseeched.

The Warden grimaced, "I…can't do that, Morrigan. I don't want this to end."

"You miserable, selfish bastard," she flung at him. "You will regret this and so will I," she continued sorrowfully, "And…perhaps that is how it must be. Leave me."

The Warden returned to his tent feeling defeated and hopeless.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Love, Or Something Like It"

When they had arrived at Redcliffe, they had found chaos. All manner of abomination apparently inhabited the castle housing Arl Eamon, and they had had to fight their way through to find that the source of all the trouble was a young lad, the son of the Arl himself, who had been possessed by a demon. The Arl had been poisoned and hovered perilously near death, but first they would have to deal with the demon-child. The only way to free the boy without harming him would be for a mage to enter the Fade itself, the world of dreams and death where little was as it seemed. There, the mage would need to unravel the demon's intricate hold on the child. It would require strength of will and cunning to succeed, and there was every chance that the one who entered would not be able to exit. The Warden had been surprised when Morrigan volunteered to go. It was not in her usual nature to perform such an altruistic act, much less to come forward of her own volition in such an endeavor. Wynne had expected to go, but Morrigan insisted, claiming she recognized the spirits, and they could not fool her. She had always had a strange connection with the Fade and was undaunted by it. She was the only logical choice, was it not obvious? she had asserted with her usual confidence. And, true to her word, she had extracted the child, recognizing and defeating the Fade abominations.

But the Arl was still sick, and they needed him, so they embarked on a desperate mission to save him. The Arl's wife had sent out many knights to scour the countryside for the ashes of Andraste, the remains of the prophet whose teachings later served as the foundation for the formation of the Chantry. She was the spiritual wife of the Maker, and it was believed that her ashes possessed a healing power that might save the life of Arl Eamon. The Warden was not sure this would work, but he believed in the Maker. Morrigan was a child of nature, and skeptical, as he had expected. Flemeth would not have given her a foundation for such beliefs, and the Chantry's policies on apostates had made them her sworn enemy. He did not always approve of the Chantry's methods, but he shared their religious beliefs. He knew the legend of Andraste, and could only hope the rumors were true. It was worth the attempt, as they had no other options.

Their road took them through Denerim and then to a small hamlet in the Frostback Mountains called Haven. They discovered the village harbored a dragon cult, believing that the high dragon they protected there was a risen Andraste. Madness had consumed the cultists and they attacked the group without provocation, to protect the young dragons they guarded. When they finally reached the temple containing the Urn of Sacred Ashes, they found it protected by a spiritual guardian whose role it was to put them through a test of faith, a "gauntlet", before they would be permitted to view Andraste's remains. Seeming to know everything about each of them, the Guardian questioned each member of the party about their pasts and their life decisions. It was as though the spirit sought to probe them about their most difficult moments. Leliana's genuineness in her conversion to the Chantry was questioned, as was Alistair's motivations in lying about his royal bloodline. Morrigan had, in typical Morrigan fashion, refused to answer the Guardian, claiming she would not play his games. But the Warden had been interrogated about his role and motivations in his parents' deaths, a subject that had tortured him from the day it happened. It was unexpected and affected him deeply.

Morrigan's eyes had flashed with anger at the Guardian for putting him through the memory again and causing him to question his decisions. She had helped him deal with his troubling past, and it seemed that he had been coming to grips with it. Now, this spirit saw fit to raise the specter of doubt again. Morrigan moved up beside him to lend support. The Warden's answer to the Guardian was wracked with guilt and pain. She could feel his wounds reopened, and she was furious.

When they had passed the first of the Guardian's four tests, the riddles of the eight spirits of Andraste's past, they came across another spirit. It was that of Bryce Cousland, Ryder's father, who had perished at the hands of Arl Howe. He spoke with the Warden, and though his father's words were encouraging, Morrigan could see that the whole encounter had overwhelmed the Warden.

They finally passed the tests of the Guardian and were allowed to retrieve the ashes they needed to save Arl Eamon. He recovered miraculously, much to Morrigan's surprise, and plans were made to head to Denerim to convene a special emergency Landsmeet, a council meeting of nobility from across the whole of Ferelden where decisions were made for the good of the country. There, they hoped to expose Loghain and persuade the nobles to unite under one banner to defeat the Blight and slay the archdemon.

-----

Morrigan was worried. For days, the Warden had said little. She had not seen him like this before, and though she had wanted to talk to him, the tension between them had prevented her from approaching him about what had happened with the Guardian. He seemed to have retreated within himself, struggling to defeat his inner demons. He had taken to disappearing at night, seeking solitude, wishing to speak to no one. It hurt her to see him this way, and when she could bear it no more, she went to find him. They were still two days away from Denerim, camped in the moonlit Brecilian Forest. The others had long since fallen asleep, but the Warden was not in camp. She found him in a clearing overlooking the river. He was standing, gazing into the burbling water, with a distant look in his eye. Morrigan knew where he was. She walked up beside him. He turned, surprised to find her standing next to him.

"Morrigan?" he said softly. "What are you doing out here? It's late, you should get some rest."

For a moment she said nothing, considering her words carefully, "You dwell on your family, no? 'Twas clear the spirits of Andraste upset you. I…am…sorry. They had no right to put you through that. You have done nothing wrong," she said, angrily defending him.

He smiled weakly, wanting to believe her, touched that she should champion his cause so vehemently, moved that she was here at all. "Thank you, Morrigan," was all he managed to say. He returned his gaze to the river.

Unable to look at him, she continued with conviction, "You are a great man, Warden. You have done great things. Do not let them take that from you. Your parents would be proud of what you have become, what you intend to accomplish." She reached down and took his hand and held it.

He turned to her then, took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes…those strange, compelling, beautiful eyes that had mesmerized him from the moment he met her. "I love you," he whispered, unable to hold his feelings back any longer.

Fear now filled those same golden eyes, and she placed her fingertips on his lips as if to prevent those words that had already escaped them. "No," she whispered back, refusing his gift.

He pulled her hand down and leaned in and grazed her lips with his own, hovering there, not wanting to pull away.

She shook her head slightly, whispering, "Love is a weakness."

He kissed her lightly again, "Love gives you strength," he countered.

"It brings pain," she argued softly, her eyes closed.

"It heals," he returned, his lips still lightly on hers.

"'Tis a cancer that grows inside and makes one do foolish things," she continued, as he kissed her again.

"Only fools let it slip away," he whispered emotionally.

"Love is death…it is surrendering one's soul," she murmured haltingly. She felt her resolve melting away.

"Love makes you feel alive. Surrender, Morrigan," he entreated her, kissing her lightly again, then pulling back to look at her. "Surrender," he whispered. He kissed her deeply without waiting for her answer.

And she was lost.

They made love through the night. It was intense and passionate as it had never been before, born of weeks of denial, frustration, and uncertainty. And the Warden was healed. And for the first time in months, he began to hope for a future with her.

High above in a great tree, a strange creature observed it all with greedy, reptilian eyes. It was a small, green snake, unobtrusive, but oddly different from a normal snake. It slithered down the trunk of the tree and slunk into the bushes nearby. Morrigan and the Warden had been too absorbed in each other to notice above the sounds of the river, but if one had listened carefully, one might have heard the whispers, the steady drones of an incantation.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

"Howe the Mighty Have Fallen"

"Nothing has changed. Last night was a mistake, an aberration, a moment of weakness. I came to comfort you and…" Morrigan had said coolly, dressing herself.

"So you slept with me because you felt sorry for me?" he asked angrily, hurt that she would withdraw again after he had revealed his feelings.

"No, that is not what I said. I only meant that my reasons for coming to you were to offer sympathy and encouragement. You insisted on making it more. I…allowed this, for which I am sorry, but it means nothing. That which I told you before still stands." She was irritated with him for pressing what he knew was her weakness, and irritated with herself for having it, and giving in to it. Why did he have to speak the words?!? Before, she had been in denial. She had pretended it was only a passionate affair, one that would end with little damage. Now, everything had changed. Morrigan could no longer look at him without **knowing** how he felt and how that made **her** feel. Damn him.

He had no argument he had not already used to persuade her, and so, the Warden had said nothing. Damn her, he had thought, as she walked away.

-----

Queen Anora had to be rescued. That Loghain would allow Howe to incarcerate his own daughter (the Queen, no less), was astounding, but the Warden was learning that no one was safe if Loghain Mac Tir felt they obstructed his plans. He was not entirely convinced of Anora's loyalties, but the mere fact of her imprisonment implied she opposed her father. She was an able Queen (many thought **she** had ruled the country, not Cailan),and beloved by the people. She would be a powerful ally at the Landsmeet… maybe their **most** powerful ally.

He would have to bypass brute force in favor of stealth where possible, not only because Howe's guards were superior warriors and the place was overrun by mabaris, but because he could not risk Anora being harmed. All went well for a time, and they were able to reach Anora's cell undiscovered, only to find that the special key they needed was in the possession of Arl Howe. The Warden had looked at Morrigan. An understanding passed between them, and she nodded. The time had come. The Warden's family would be avenged.

-----

Howe had gone down like the villain he was, never acknowledging his guilt and thinking he deserved better for all he had done for Ferelden in another time. Ryder had thought he would feel relieved, that more of the anger would leave him. Perhaps it was the way Howe died, completely unrepentant, that made it more difficult. Perhaps it would just take time. Morrigan had moved to his side and touched his shoulder gently as he stared at the fallen Arl. "We must go," she said softly.

He nodded numbly and they returned to Anora's cell and freed her. But as they tried to depart they were surrounded by Ser Cauthrien's men. Ser Cauthrien was Loghain's second-in-command, brave and loyal to the throne. She had served her country faithfully, but she was completely unaware of Loghain's treachery. He was like a father to her, and she still saw him as a great war hero of Ferelden. The Warden had no desire to kill her. He viewed her as a misguided pawn. He tried to persuade her that Loghain was the traitor, but he failed, and now had to lay down his arms or risk Anora being killed.

"Take the Wardens to Fort Drakon, the others are of no import," Cauthrien ordered, releasing the disguised Anora and the rest of the party.

Morrigan was panic-stricken. She started to unleash the full fury of her magic in a desperate attempt to save them, but the Warden grabbed her arm, smiled sadly, and shook his head slightly as if to say, "It's over, this will not help."

As they chained him and dragged him away, he gave her a piercing look that struck her to her core, a soulful gaze she would remember the rest of her life. "Nooo," she whispered mournfully.

They had returned to Arl Eamon's estate as quickly as they could, Morrigan's mind racing. She had to do something, had to find a way to get him out. And then she felt it - a strange sensation, a warmth, tinged with…sadness? A closeness, as though she were standing next to him, and she remembered. The ring! He wore the ring she had given him! Now she knew what to do, and set her mind to do it.

Once she had explained her plan, and they had seen her resolve, the others agreed to go. Initially, they were skeptical. She had never shown any desire or aptitude for leadership, and the plan had seemed foolhardy. They all wanted to help the Wardens, but this seemed doomed to failure. Two of them waltzing past the guards and freeing the two most important prisoners in all of Ferelden? The fact that Morrigan was determined to be one of them, and had insisted she would go alone if no one would assist her, finally convinced them of her sincerity. She ultimately chose Sten, as she needed a warrior, and one with unquestionable devotion to her Warden, his 'kadan'.

Wynne approached Morrigan privately as she was making ready to leave. "Morrigan," she spoke authoritatively, "I believe it would be wiser if you let me go in your stead. I am not an apostate and the risk to me if I am caught is much less. My age and wisdom would lend credibility to my attempts to enter the Fort. They would not suspect an old woman."

Morrigan refused, continuing to pack her things, not looking up, "No, **I **will go. You have called me cunning and deceitful." She paused, before continuing, "You are correct in this, and a guile will be needed in this situation which you do not possess. Where you would use your age, forthrightness, and experience to get past the gates, I will do the opposite. I will use my youth, subterfuge, and the lascivious appetites of men to make my way, as I have always done. Men are lustful fools, easily manipulated by a well-placed flash of skin and toss of the head."

"Except the Warden," Wynne ventured, studying Morrigan for a reaction.

Morrigan froze momentarily, her back still to the older mage, and then she gradually continued her preparations with more deliberation. She answered slowly, trying to keep the emotion from her voice, "He is…not like other men."

"As a Spirit Healer, you are needed here if …all does not go well," Morrigan continued, "And they will need a leader to guide them. You…command respect. 'Tis settled then. I will go and Sten will go with me. We will return with the Wardens or not at all," she stated matter-of-factly.

She began to walk away, but Wynne's words stopped her, "I think perhaps I was wrong about you. You are prepared to sacrifice yourself in a desperate attempt to save his life with no hope of reward. This is not the act of the woman I thought you were. You have changed, **he** has changed you, and I believe now that you truly love him."

Morrigan tried to deflect where the conversation was headed by going on the offensive. She whirled to face Wynne and spit out, "So now you **approve** of my involvement with the Warden? I have your permission now, do I? I told you before, what happens between us is not your concern. And I do not love him," she lied, as much to herself as to Wynne. She had not spoken the words and therefore they were not real, "I know no such weakness. What I know is passion, the respect of equals, things far more valuable. I go to free him now because I believe what little chance we have to defeat the archdemon rests with him, and all our lives are forfeit if we cannot end the Blight. I will speak to you no further of it," she snapped.

"I do not believe you, Morrigan. I have observed the way you look at him when you think no one is about, the fear in your eyes when he falls in battle," Wynne spoke carefully.

Morrigan flushed and averted her eyes, "'Tis not so, you are mistaken…," she stammered unconvincingly.

"I am old and sometimes I put my nose in where it doesn't belong," Wynne continued gently, "You certainly do not need my approval or my permission. I only wished to tell you that I am sorry for misjudging your intent towards the Warden. Your relationship has been good for him. You have given him respite from the terrible world around us. I have faith that you will rescue him. And I believe that he will need you even more in the days to come as he faces the archdemon. He will need the strength only you can give him."

Her words cut Morrigan deeper than any darkspawn blade ever could. She felt as though there were no air in her lungs, no clever words that she could utter, no pointed repartee she could offer that so easily escaped her lips in normal conversation. Such was the devastating impact of the unintentional blow that Wynne's kindness dealt her. She knew she could not be the Warden's strength, and prayed she would not be his downfall.

"I…must go," Morrigan finally offered, lamely. And she turned and walked away. Wynne had not been wrong about her, and Morrigan hated herself for it.

Wynne scowled. "What an odd response to my conciliatory efforts," she thought. Not that Morrigan's behavior hadn't **always** struck her as odd. She did, after all, grow up in isolation in the Wilds, raised by that abomination Flemeth. It was no wonder the child hardly knew how to act. But this…was different. The girl had looked…injured? Was that the word? "I gave her my blessing, encouraged her relationship with the Warden, and she looked…struck…in pain," Wynne thought with consternation. Something was not right.

-----

"She will come," the Warden said confidently.

Alistair snorted, "Hmmph! You give her too much credit."

Ryder stared at his friend angrily, and retorted, "And** you** give her too little."

They had never agreed on Morrigan and maybe never would, but at a time like this, he was in no mood to tolerate Alistair's snide comments. He preferred that Morrigan and Alistair become friends, but would have settled for the ceaseless bickering to end. It appeared to amuse the both of them immensely from the first, though, so he saw no imminent cessation to the hostilities. And, in truth, they were both clever and entertaining, but he knew that underneath the witticisms lay a basic mutual distrust, and, indeed, dislike. He could certainly understand Morrigan's instant aversion to Alistair, a former Chantry Templar whose job it was to hunt down the Morrigans of the world and see them caged or dead. It did not help that Alistair's attitudes had not changed since he had become a Warden. Perhaps, one day he could bring Morrigan around and Alistair would see her as he does, but that day seemed very far away right now. At present, Alistair saw her through Templar eyes: as an apostate, an abomination's daughter that should have been imprisoned forever, or, more likely, slain. He could not trust Alistair where Morrigan was concerned and that was unfortunate.

His thoughts were interrupted by the crackle of electricity and the clanging of swords. Within moments a breathless Morrigan cleared the corner with the keys to his cell, Sten's enormous frame lumbering just behind.

Seeing their unclothed appearance and rather helpless state, her eyes widened and she could not suppress a hearty laugh, "So, they are truly afraid of my Grey Warden, are they? To take his clothes as well as his weapons? Come now, dress yourselves," she chided, and to the Warden she winked and said in a low, sensual tone previously reserved for her tent, "while **you** are infinitely desirable in this state, I hardly think it appropriate battle attire. Perhaps if you donned your armor you might fare better in a fight, unless it is your intent to distract."

The Warden laughed, responding, "You **are** a saucy minx."

Sten rolled his eyes and offered in the classically understated way that only Sten could, "That is how the kasaanda got us in. Now perhaps a little less sauce and a little more fighting might see us out."

As they gathered their weapons and prepared to flee the fort, the Warden turned to Alistair with a smirk that said, "I told you she would come".

Alistair tipped his head in a deferential manner and acknowledged, "I stand corrected."

And they proceeded to escape.

-----

Arl Eamon had called the Landsmeet immediately to prevent Loghain from reacting to their escape. While most of the nobles had sided with the Warden once he had given them the details of Loghain's treachery: the elven slave trade, the betrayal of King Cailan at Ostagar, Arl Howe's duplicity, and Queen Anora's imprisonment, he had been alarmed at the resistance that remained. There were those that still worshipped Loghain for his prior exploits in the war against Orlais, and the Warden feared civil war was still a possibility. So when he had been given the choice to spare Loghain or slay him for his crimes and unite Ferelden once and for all, he had made the terrible choice. His heart went out to Anora, but he had done what he felt he had to do. Loghain had seemed mad with power-lust, doing the unthinkable to further his paranoid fantasies. Riordan's idea to have him join the Wardens was impractical at best, and incredibly dangerous at worst. Loghain's loyalties could never be trusted, and while the Warden had respected the man's past, it was not his present. Alistair had nearly exploded when the topic of leniency was broached. His pain at the loss of Duncan, his mentor, was still heavily felt, and, on a personal level, Ryder also considered Loghain's crimes unpardonable. Loghain and Arl Howe had conspired together and it had cost his parents their lives. And leaving him alive left the door open for internal strife in Ferelden when what they desperately needed was unity. No, the Warden had made the difficult decision to end the madness permanently. Against Arl Eamon's wishes, he supported Anora to remain Queen. She had the experience and temperament to rule wisely and had already won the hearts and minds of the people. She was the moderate hand Ferelden needed to come together and survive what was to come. Alistair had no desire to rule, and though he was a good man, he was a warrior, not a politician, and the Warden doubted he could sit through any meeting of state without making an 'indelicate' comment (and possibly causing a war or two.) He was better suited to be a Grey Warden.

Now, all that remained was the archdemon.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"A Life For A Life"

There had been a grave tactical miscalculation and the darkspawn horde had turned north to attack Denerim. It had been assumed they would strike Redcliffe in full force and so the main forces had gathered there. Now, word had arrived that the archdemon was at the head of the darkspawn column and leading the way to Denerim. At last, the dragon had shown himself. This was their chance to defeat the archdemon and the Blight once and for all. But Denerim was several days march and they all acknowledged sadly they could not arrive in time to save the city. But perhaps they could get there in time to deal the final blow. They would march at first light.

Riordan, a Grey Warden from Orlais and a survivor of the Ostagar massacre, had requested the two Ferelden Wardens join him for a final briefing before retiring for the night. They had both been shocked to hear his announcement. It seemed that the only way to truly kill the archdemon was for a Warden to issue the killing stroke. The essence of the archdemon would seek a new vessel and be attracted to the Grey Warden's taint. The archdemon's essence could not survive when commingled with the soul of a Warden…but the Warden would also perish. If a Grey Warden did not kill the high dragon, the essence would vault into the nearest darkspawn bearing the taint. But darkspawn were empty, soulless husks, and the essence would not have to compete with an adult soul. The archdemon would live and the Blight would not be over.

This news stunned the two younger Wardens. They had fought through countless perils and stood on the verge of final victory, only to realize they could not both make it out alive. But Riordan took up the gauntlet. He was an older Warden, nearing the end of his time. The taint would take him soon enough and he wished to perish honorably, destroying the archdemon and ending the Blight. As the senior Warden, it was his right, and it was agreed he would take the final swing. But if he should fail, it would fall to the other two to ensure the archdemon did not live to continue to wreak havoc on the world.

When a somber Ryder Cousland withdrew to his chambers, he found Morrigan waiting for him, standing in front of the great fireplace with her back to him. He was glad to see her, but how to tell her what he had just been told? As he struggled for the words, she felt his presence, and turned her head slightly, "Do not be alarmed. 'Tis only I."

"I'm not alarmed, I'm glad to see you," he managed, smiling.

"I did not come here to speak of sentimental things," she said somewhat coolly. "I came here to speak with you. I have a plan, you see…a way out. I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be **you**. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be," she said slowly, studying his face for a reaction.

The Warden scowled in confusion, "Does not need to be? What do you mean?"

"I offer a way out…a way out for all the Grey Wardens that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual…performed on the eve of battle in the dark of night," she said.

Skepticism began to creep into the Warden's mind, "Just what sort of ritual is this?"

Morrigan continued mysteriously, "'Tis old magic. From a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call it blood magic. But that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names. Is it not so, my 'rogue' Warden?" She allowed a hint of a smile to touch her lips.

The Warden was becoming increasingly uneasy, in spite of her attempt to disarm him with the "rogue" reference. "Just where did you get this ritual, Morrigan?" he asked.

"From Flemeth, of course. I have known about it for some time and I have every confidence in my mother's magic. It will work, and it will save your life," she said evenly.

The Warden began to feel sick, as though everything he thought he knew was false. "So you knew about the sacrifice before Riordan told me?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"I did," she admitted, a twinge of guilt playing across her features, "Would you have believed me if I had been the one to tell you? I have my doubts."

The Warden said nothing, considering her question.

Emboldened by his silence, Morrigan offered her plan, "What I propose is this: lay with me here tonight, and from our joining, a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint. And when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb this essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

He looked stunned…and unhappy.

Morrigan began to think of failure, and allowed emotion to creep into her voice, "Think about what I offer you. The chance to avoid death. Or better yet, the chance to slay the archdemon and live as a hero. No Grey Warden has **ever** done this. In return, I conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an Old God, the essence of the Old God that once was, not the dark forces that corrupted it. The child will not be evil. It will not be hurt. It will be…changed." She turned away from him, unable to look at him. "After this is done, you allow me to walk away. And you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to bring up as I wish. I will raise the child apart from the rest of society and teach it to respect that from which it came. I will control him and see to it that he does no harm."

The Warden's face had grown dark with anger and distrust, and he growled, "Is this why you've been so…friendly to me?"

Morrigan was taken aback by the shift in his demeanor and she stammered, "It's…why I was sent with you by my mother. It's why she saved your life to begin with. **Caring** for you was not part of the plan. But I cannot let what I feel interfere with what I must do. Please, do not cloud the issue. If you feel anything for me, then accept that it will make what we must do that much easier."

"Flemeth is gone, Morrigan. She may never resurface. You do not need to pursue her plans anymore. Unless…you think you can manipulate the Old God somehow to your advantage. You want the power, don't you? That's still the only thing you really care about! This is just some sort of transaction to you, isn't it? I give you a child for your Old God and you give me my life?" he asked incredulously. "Maker, I thought you had changed, but you're the same selfish, ambitious, power-hungry…" he said coldly, his stomach churning bitterly with the sense of betrayal.

"No, I…'tis not so," she protested, "I do not pursue this for Flemeth. I no longer seek its power…I only wish to…" and she stopped, lowering her head, not wishing to encourage him. No matter what, he must not follow her.

He wanted to believe her…she seemed genuine, yet she had told him so many lies. "No, I can't agree to this," the Warden said finally, angrily shaking his head.

"I see," she said, visibly hurt by his rejection. She continued matter-of-factly, "There is, of course, another option. I speak of Alistair, or perhaps Riordan. They are both Grey Wardens, and will suffice for the ritual."

"You want me to send you to another man?" he asked, stunned that it seemed so easy for her to do so.

"If you will not even lay with me to save your own life, then why not?" she wailed. "I **care** for you, and would prefer you to be the father of this child were there a **hundred** Grey Wardens here, but if you will not do it…" she entreated. "Consider the alternative. If Riordan fails, do you think Alistair will hesitate? He will die the hero of Ferelden, Maric's son, and you will be forgotten." As soon as the words escaped her lips, she wished she had not uttered them, knowing he had never cared about such things. It was the wrong approach and it would insult him.

"Do you think that's what I want? **Glory**? Do you really think that's why I'm doing this? I don't give a **damn** about being the hero of Ferelden!" he said shaking his head.

"Do not let your foolish pride condemn you. No Grey Warden asked for the sacrifice that is now demanded of them, and I offer all of you a way out. Will you not reconsider?" she pleaded.

The Warden glared at her. "And bring a demon spawn into the world? I vowed to destroy the archdemon, I will not risk another Blight for your covetous schemes! You really don't know me at all, do you? And I clearly don't know you," he finished bitterly.

His words cut her deeply, but Morrigan had a fiery temper, and she could feel her own anger rising. Her eyes flared. She was caught up in her history of deception now, and she knew she deserved some of his wrath, but his accusations pierced her heart, nonetheless. Could he not **see** she had changed? Was he so blind? She had shared things with him she had told no other. She had let him in, had given him more of herself than any other man, and still he could say these things, think these things? He had misjudged her intent, mistrusted her goals. She thought he had come to believe in her. But, no, he was right, she thought choking back the tears, he did not know her, and now he never would. "Then you are a **fool**! I will not stand by and watch you kill yourself. Die, if you feel it is worthwhile. I care not," she snapped with feigned indifference, as she headed towards the door.

The Warden had instantly regretted his words and her reaction was heart wrenching. She had looked wounded, stricken, as though he had falsely accused her. She had mustered her anger and through teary eyes lashed out at him. Perhaps he was misreading her. He was just thrown off-balance by all of it. But he still cared for her. Could his earlier instincts have been so wrong? He knew in his heart that she had changed. He should never have questioned that. He tried to stop things from going too far, "Please don't do this. We can sort this out. I love you."

Morrigan paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, "Yes," she said sadly, "but not enough." She raised her arms and suddenly, where a woman had stood there was a beautiful white wolf with stunning golden eyes. The creature gave him what seemed one last soulful glance, and raced out of the castle and out of his life.

And the Warden could not get the lump out of his throat. "Morrigan," he whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"A Wing And A Prayer"

Morrigan had run in white wolf form for 2 days, heading northward without any real direction, hoping to sprint herself into an exhaustion that might bring her sleep…and peace. But sleep would not find her, and peace was something she might never know again. Shapeshifting was something that had always brought her serenity – a harmony with nature that gave her a sense of freedom she felt at no other time in her harsh young life. But it brought her no measure of solace or tranquility. And she knew why.

She had always known she would not stay with him, but her reasons had changed. At first, her plans were those of Flemeth, to raise the Old God away from prying eyes, and try to harness the power he wielded. But as Morrigan grew to care for the Warden, she found herself caring less about the Old God and her mother's scheme. By that final night, she wanted only to save him. Monitoring and containing the Old God would be the price she would pay to assure his safety. But the Warden had not believed her, had not trusted her, and rejected her offer. She understood his reaction after all the lies she had spun, but in that moment, when she was baring her soul to him, it had pained her greatly that she could not convince him of her sincerity. She had gotten angry and lashed out, abandoning him when he needed her most, and leaving them both heartbroken. But she could not bear to watch him die and she was sure he would let no other Warden make the sacrifice that needed to be made. Thus, hurt and angry, she had left him. Angry at him for not letting her save his life, angry at herself for leaving him to meet his fate alone, hating herself for her cowardice.

When she could run no more, she stopped, realizing she could not escape that which dwelt inside her. There was nowhere she could run that she would not feel the regret and sorrow that tore at her. And she made up her mind to go to Denerim and fight with him to the end, and, if need be, to stand by his side as he faced his own mortality. The Warden would be less than a day away from Denerim by now, but she could fly. She took the shape of a crow, winging her way east to her Warden, and praying she would get there in time.

By the time Morrigan reached Denerim, the battle was frenzied. Thousands of darkspawn flooded the plain below, spilling through the gates. The city was in ruins, rubble everywhere, and fires raged all over the capital. She could make out pockets of human soldiers, elves, and dwarves all fighting valiantly against the horde. The flash of magic spells erupted along the great fortress walls as the mages of the Circle lent their skills to the effort. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air, burning her eyes and obscuring her vision. She would never find him from above, so she landed as close to the center of the city as she could, hoping to track him on foot. She was unafraid of the darkspawn, and she fought her way through with relative ease, searching for some sign of him until the great roar of the archdemon drowned out the clangs and shouts of battle. Morrigan raised her head to see the creature circling the tower. Of course, the archdemon! **That** was the Warden's target, she thought as she raced up the stairs. She had just cleared the top when Riordan, the Warden from Orlais, leaped on the back of the dragon as it flew past. He stabbed and tore at it until it flung him off, killing him as he fell to the ground. The high dragon landed atop the tower, its wing damaged. The tower was full of darkspawn and she could not see the Warden for defending herself. It seemed no matter how many spells she cast, she could not thin their numbers. There was no time to naturally regenerate her mana, and she began to fear she would not have enough lyrium potions to sustain her magic.

Then she saw him in the distance, his Warden Commander armor gleaming, and her heart swelled. He was still alive. I **knew** the darkspawn could not take him, Morrigan thought proudly. The Warden was attacking the dragon relentlessly, his allies assaulting it from all directions. The archdemon writhed, trying to escape, howling great cries of pain, but still they assailed it. She tried to make her way to the Warden, inching ever closer, catching glimpses of him through the throngs of pitched battle.

When he came into view again, Morrigan realized, heart sinking, she was seconds too late. He was charging the archdemon, leaping onto its head and driving the blade into its skull. She had wanted him to see her at least, to let him know she had not abandoned him in his final moments. She had wanted him to know that she loved him, would always love him. She watched in horror as a strange light enveloped the Warden as he gripped the sword still buried in the archdemon. His back arched in pain and he collapsed.

"No," Morrigan cried, running towards him. Suddenly, her breathing became labored, her heart pounding violently. She crumpled to her knees, doubled over in pain, clutching her abdomen. As she lost consciousness, she reached out to him before darkness overtook her.

-----

For hours, Morrigan's prostrate form was overlooked as just another victim of battle. She awoke disoriented, confused. As she regained her senses, her only thought was of the Warden. She had to know what had become of him, though she knew in her heart that he could not have survived the slaying of the archdemon. Still, she had to know. She had to hear it herself. The body of the archdemon lay where it had fallen, but there were no signs of the Warden. Morrigan stumbled through the war-torn city searching for anyone who might know. Denerim seemed deserted, in ruins. There were no signs of the darkspawn. They had vanished with the death of their leader. Finally, she came across a band of wounded stragglers and begged them for any word of him.

"Aye, the Warden is well. He took a bit of a hit when he slew the dragon, but he's fine now! The hero of Ferelden, he is! Saved us all, by the stone! I think they're all over by the gates of the city, now. The darkspawn are defeated! They ran with their soddin' tails between their legs when the dragon fell! Ha! 'Tis a celebration, girl! You should join 'em!" cried a Legion of the Dead dwarf as he half-carried his wounded compatriot past her.

Shock and relief washed over her. Morrigan did not understand how this could be so, how the Warden still lived. Perhaps the archdemon had been killed by a stray arrow or spell, and not by the Warden. But it did not matter. 'Twas not important how he had survived, only that he had done so, and for that, she was grateful beyond imagining.

Her thoughts turned to what had happened to her, that she should blackout in such a manner. Perhaps her great anxiety had overwhelmed her. 'Twas curious. After some contemplation, she dismissed the event as her own foolish weakness.

And so it was over. She looked towards the city gates wistfully, longing to see him one last time, but instead turned away and disappeared into the night, not knowing that she carried the Warden's offspring in her womb…and now, it was not alone.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

"Go Your Own Way"

He was puzzled that he was still alive after killing the archdemon. Both Morrigan and Riordan had told him this would not be so. Could the Warden curse be just a legend, after all? Could some Warden in times past, have invented the tale to make the Grey Wardens seem more valuable than they were? He did not know, but he still drew breath.

Then he thought that perhaps the archdemon had not truly been killed. The darkspawn horde was gone, having fled the field when the dragon went down, but he had his doubts that all had gone as planned. Something nagged at him. Was it the taint? The situation would bear watching.

The Warden had been hailed as a hero, but it meant nothing to him. He felt empty…drained. He was surrounded by well-wishers and friends, but he was alone. And heartsick. He could never have imagined things would end like that. He had said things in anger he didn't really believe, but he had been unable to hold his tongue. He had been too harsh on her and regretted the things he had said, but he had been unable to grasp what she was saying, to fully comprehend what was happening, and he had felt betrayed. Her offer had seemed so cold-blooded, and she had admitted more lies. It was unlike him to lose his composure, but she could be maddening. The Warden had thought about their conversation for days, and he had become convinced that she truly had wanted to help him. He could see it in her eyes. However misguided her attempt was, she seemed to be doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. To ask him to father a child with the woman he loved and allow them both to walk out of his life forever…and the child…what of the child? Was he not killing his own child by allowing the Old God to take possession of it? It was a moral dilemma that was ultimately unconscionable for him. The ritual Morrigan offered might have allowed him to live, but it would not have allowed him to live with himself.

The Warden was lost in thought when Oghren approached drunkenly with his arm slung over the shoulder of another dwarven soldier garbed in the armor of the Legion of the Dead.

"Warden," Oghren smiled broadly, "Been having a pint with my new pal…whats-his-name, and he told me something I thought you might find interestin'. Go ahead, already! Tell him, by the stone!"

The Warden sighed, only half-listening, and even less interested, "Sure, Oghren."

"I was haulin' my wounded buddy, Helmut, back to the city gates, when this woman comes up to us, starts askin' questions about you. Seemed real worried and agitated, she did. Wanted to know what happened to you, if you was alright," the Legionnaire said.

The Warden's head snapped up at this, "A woman?" he asked hopefully, feeling a pit in his stomach.

"By the stone, she was a beautiful one, that, a real looker! Dark hair, pulled up, and those eyes…those soddin' golden eyes…made me wish I wasn't a married man! Heh!Heh!" he grinned.

The Warden was alert now, hanging on his every word.

"She was real relieved when I told her you was alright. I told her you was up at the gates. Did she find ya?" the Legionnaire continued, tilting ever so slightly to his drunken left.

The Warden's face darkened. She had not. It had been hours since she had last been seen, more than enough time to reach the gate…if that was her intent. But she had come back to Denerim, she had fought her way through the city to find him. That meant something…didn't it?

He sighed. "How could I have let things get so out of hand?" he lamented to himself. But damn her for making everything so difficult! He knew she had survived the attack, but where was she? Why come all this way and not come to him? Perhaps she did not understand her own actions. She was so conflicted in her feelings for him. Her struggle to reconcile what she felt with her Flemeth-taught preconceptions was always visible to him and he was pained by it.

The Warden searched the city for hours, but there was no sign of her, and no one else had seen her. His hopes waning, he finally accepted the truth of it – she was gone, without ever seeing him, without ever giving him the chance to make things right. By the Maker, he would not let it end like this. He would find her. He had to find her.

-----

The Warden had sent Alistair to take command of building the Grey Warden's new keep at Amaranthine. The rest of the party split up, each going his own way. While it saddened the Warden to see his friends and allies spread to the winds, he understood. They all had their own agenda, just as he did, and he wished them well. Some of them offered to travel with him for a time, but where he was going, he was going alone.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

"Politics Makes Strange Bedfellows"

In spite of his decision to end her father's life, Queen Anora bore no grudge against the Warden. She understood the political risks of letting Loghain live. She knew her father's crimes warranted the punishment, but her relationship to him prevented her from being able to make such a choice. The Warden had made it for her, and she was saddened. But she had noted from the moment she met him that he possessed a wisdom that belied his age, and she had deferred to him in this, knowing she could not be objective. He had recognized her ability to lead the country and had given her his vote of confidence to remain Queen. She must now show she was worthy of his trust, of Ferelden's trust. She would be up to the task.

There was much to be done in Denerim. The city had to be rebuilt and the defenses refortified. The Alienage had all but been destroyed, but Anora was secretly overjoyed. She had been horrified at the conditions the elves of Denerim suffered under, and she was powerless to do more than make minor improvements. She now had the chance to replace the slum with a newer, more spacious development. She intended to improve their plight in any way she could.

They had scattered the main darkspawn horde and did not expect another attack, but new plans had to be made. Allies had to coordinate. New alliances must be made. They would not be caught off guard again, Anora would see to that. It was vital to keep the banns, arls, and teyrns united, at least in a manner that would allow them to quickly reassemble their forces, should the need arise. She would enlist Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere to assist in this, as his was a respected voice in the Bannorn, and she had come to appreciate his values and strength of character. Anora trusted Teagan and would need his help. He was, like Arl Eamon, Cailan's uncle, but much younger, only 9 years her senior. Teagan had always treated her with respect and courtesy, never as a soldier's daughter. Unlike Eamon, he had not been against her retaining the crown. Eamon's obsession with the Theirin bloodline would have seen Alistair take the throne, but Teagan understood her passion for the country and her desire to do what was best for Ferelden. He had supported her and she was grateful. While she had cared for Cailan and was truly saddened he had not given her a child and heir, she knew royal blood was not enough to lead the country out of its current crisis. She was far more suited to manage the trials of the monarchy in this time of crisis than Alistair, and luckily, both Alistair and the Warden had seen this, too.

She hoped to use her considerable diplomacy skills to maintain and build on the positive relations with Orzammar and the Dalish elves as well. She also sought to improve relations with the surrounding nations, including Ferelden's old enemy, Orlais. Her father had fought against the Orlesians and would have disapproved, but times had changed. The young Empress of Orlais, Celene I, seemed interested in establishing a mutually advantageous alliance between the two countries. Cailan had shown her a letter written by the Empress offering the assistance of her elite Chevalier knights and the Orlesian Grey Wardens against the Blight. Celene had recognized the danger to both their countries and had shown a willingness to put aside their past differences and develop a new and lasting relationship between them. Anora knew that Ferelden would need all the help it could get, and even though the darkspawn threat seemed ended for now, she felt that a powerful ally to the immediate west could only make Ferelden stronger and more able to resist any future incursions. If she could cultivate this partnership, it might even make the economic recovery of Ferelden easier. The Queen knew there would be suspicion and resistance to any alliance with Orlais, given the occupation had only ended 30 years ago, and there were many still alive who had fought the Orlesians. But she felt that Ferelden had to be progressive to move forward. Orlais was far more advanced and sophisticated than her own country, she acknowledged ruefully, and in these harsh times, they could not afford to be proud. Anora would accept the olive branch the Empress had offered. She was convinced Ferelden would be the better for it.

The Warden's plans to search for Morrigan had been delayed at the Queen's request. She had begged him to perform two small tasks for her before he left with her blessing. Anora wanted him to return to Ostagar and find Cailan's personal effects, if possible. Following the massacre, they had scoured the battlefield and found his desecrated body, giving him a proper funeral pyre ceremony befitting the King of Ferelden. But they had been unable to locate his personal things, and the Queen felt she needed closure. The Warden consented to leave immediately. She had also informed him of her intended alliance with Celene and that she would surely be here by the time he returned from Ostagar. Anora wanted him involved in the diplomatic process. She trusted his instincts and wanted his impressions of the Empress and her intentions. The Warden agreed the timing was right and it was a vital move for Ferelden.

Ostagar brought back a flood of memories. The devastation was chilling and no amount of snow could purify the scene. He fought through a few small bands of darkspawn with relative ease, until he had come across a dying soldier who had given him the location of the King's possessions. The Warden found some open documents in Cailan's chest bearing the seal of Orlais, and his eyes narrowed. Why would the King bring such documents into battle with him? He knew he should not read them, but the Queen had asked for his assistance in the negotiations with Orlais and two of these letters bore the Orlesian sun seal. His eyes widened. The first document seemed innocuous enough - a formal missive from Empress Celene of Orlais requesting an alliance between their countries. Then he saw Arl Eamon's letter, and it angered him. Eamon had been secretly entreating his nephew for months to toss Anora aside as she had not yet borne him an heir. The treachery! He had not thought Eamon capable. Apparently, Cailan had decided to listen, for the final document was most troubling of all, though in truth it was vague in meaning. It was from Celene, in an informal tone, postponing her diplomatic visit to Ferelden until after the darkspawn had been dealt with. But the change in tone was what concerned him. Coupled with the other documents, it implied the pact would be a marriage of state to cement the alliance, a prospect which made the Warden shiver. It was a common perception that Cailan was but a figurehead in his own monarchy, that it was Anora who had ruled so wisely and gracefully. To expel her and bring in Celene would have effectively made Ferelden an Orlesian annex, controlled by the Empress. Their way, their culture would be subjugated, and ultimately, they would simply be Orlesian. This was stunning. Of course, the King's death had rendered this impossible, but the political ramifications of the attempt…and Eamon! He sat on the chest, suddenly weary, and tried to decide what to do with the information. He still felt they needed the treaty with Orlais for many reasons, and he did not wish to risk its cancellation over personal issues, no matter how vile. The Warden believed that if Anora had seen the rest of the correspondence and knew of the plotting behind her back, she might not have been so quick to embrace her neighbor. And he had no desire to hurt her further. He knew she was still dealing with the grief from her father's execution, meted out by his hand. If Eamon's betrayal became public knowledge, it could upset the newfound unity of Ferelden. The Bannorn would be in upheaval. Damn it! Just when things seemed to be improving for his country. He decided nothing would be gained by divulging the contents of the documents, and much could be lost. But he would keep the evidence, in case things changed. And he would watch the Empress closely for any sign of duplicity. But first, he would deal with Eamon.

The Warden burst through the door of Arl Eamon's study without knocking. Eamon had been discussing the Denerim estate rebuilding plans with his brother Teagan. The Warden's anger was barely restrained as he requested that Teagan allow them a few moments. Teagan was puzzled at the obvious wrath of the Warden, clearly directed at his brother, and while it was not his way to eavesdrop, something told him the conversation they were undertaking would be of great importance. So, with the guilt of a man of honor performing a dishonorable act, he stood just outside the door absorbing what transpired between the two men.

The Warden slammed the letter down on Eamon's desk, berating him for his subterfuge, chastising him that such treachery could have led their country to ruin. At best, he was an elitest fool, and at worst, a traitor. He did not fully comprehend Eamon's motives, but he issued the Arl a warning. From this point forward, Eamon would support Anora in all things, publicly and privately. He would cause no trouble, and he would use his influence to assist the recovery of Ferelden, not to tear it down with clandestine plots. If Eamon deviated from this path, he would answer to the Warden. The Warden had given him his life with Andraste's Ashes. He would not hesitate to take it back, if it would save Ferelden. And the Warden stormed out without looking back.

Teagan re-entered the room and glared angrily at his ashen older brother, "How could you do such a thing?!?" he demanded in disbelief.

Eamon looked up weakly at his brother, and stammered, "The…the bloodline. I only wanted to retain the Theirin bloodline. I…"

"And you would risk everything this country has fought for? Everything we have accomplished? Your insane fixation on the bloodline nearly cost us everything! And what if the Empress had not produced an heir? What if Cailan was the one who could not father a child? Maker's breath! We could have been absorbed by Orlais!" he shouted, ashamed of his brother's connivances, and aggrieved for the Queen.

In truth, he had always admired Anora. She was smart and brave and kind, and he knew the great achievements of this monarchy were her doing. His nephew was a petulant child, and had not treated her as she deserved. Teagan had found himself more drawn to Anora than to his own blood. Loghain's chosen path had shocked and confused her, and it had pained him to see her suffer so, struggling to reconcile her vision of her father with the man he had become. Though Teagan had never acted on it, he had developed unresolved feelings for her, and as time went on, he had begun to avoid the Denerim court altogether, except to go hunting with his nephew.

And this…this was unconscionable.

Eamon looked stunned, and answered, "I…had not considered that."

"You will do as the Warden asked," Teagan said icily. "I will move into the castle, and I will try to undo what you have done, by offering the Queen my complete devotion in rebuilding this country. I will tender my services to her without hope of reward. You will do the same from Redcliffe. And you will not darken her door unless called upon, do you understand me? If you fail to follow these instructions, as well as the Warden's, you will have me to deal with as well."

And Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfere spun on his heel, and prepared to leave his brother's estate.

-----

By the time the Warden had returned to Denerim, the Empress had already arrived. Negotiations had been underway for two days, and the mood in the castle was hopeful. He went directly to the Queen to give her the things he had gathered that he thought she might value…except the documents.

Anora received him graciously, with a sad, but accepting air. The Warden thought to himself that it was impossible not to admire this woman. She had no royal blood, but was as regal as any of the nobility he had ever met. He inquired about the progress of the treaty, still wondering about Celene's motives.

"All is going splendidly," Anora beamed proudly, "I believe we might have an initial agreement in place by the end of the week. The Empress Celene is quite amazing. She wishes to help Ferelden recover however she may."

The Queen had met the girl before, and been impressed with her intelligence, bearing, and good sense. She had liked her on a personal level. Celene was admired and respected throughout her country and, indeed, all of Thedas, for being willing to handle all important matters herself, never leaving them open to misinterpretation or mishandling by those less capable. Now, she had made her way personally to Ferelden for the good of both countries. Anora felt a kinship with the Orlesian Empress – two strong women trying to rule their countries with the best intentions.

The Warden hesitated, looking uncertain. Should he tell her?

Anora gleaned the Warden's discomfort and pressed him, "There was something you wished to say? About the Empress? You have not met her yet, have you? Tell me your reservations," she entreated him.

"I…am not sure…she is…trustworthy," he finished.

"And on what do you base these suspicions, my good Warden? Intuition? Before you left for Ostagar you were in favor of an alliance. Has something changed? Have you learned something? Did you find something at Ostagar I should know about?" she probed him.

The Warden marveled. It was her intuition that was on target. He sighed, hoping he was doing the right thing. "I have reason to believe that…the King…that…the Empress…," he struggled to find the least hurtful words.

Hoping to spare him any further distress, Anora smiled sadly, and cut him off, "That Cailan was planning to replace me with a younger woman who could bear him a child? Perhaps the Empress Celene? I have known for some time. I suspect his Uncle Eamon pushed him to keep the Theirin bloodline on the throne, and decided I was unfit to provide him an heir. Eamon has always been fanatical in his beliefs on this matter."

The Warden was astounded, "You knew?"

Anora believed her husband cared for her, but he was weak-willed and easily influenced. After Eamon had badgered him enough, he must have relented. She sighed. Her Cailan had been such a child, always seeking approval. She imagined he must have suffered, trying to do what was best, even as he made plans to replace her.

The Queen dismissed her thoughts. "As to the Empress, she and I have talked much in the last two days on many things. I, too, have been trying to gauge her honesty and commitment to this alliance, and I am convinced of her sincerity. In fact, we have talked on this very topic. She did not wish to hurt me, but in the interest of beginning the relationship between our two countries without secrets or subterfuge, she showed me the letters Cailan sent her, offering the alliance…" Anora stopped to regain her composure. It had been difficult to read Cailan's clumsy attempts to arrange a marriage of state, knowing she was the intended casualty. Luckily, Celene had gently rebuffed him, desiring a straightforward alliance, not a loveless marriage.

She continued, "Celene rejected his proposition. She has shown me their communiqués. I believe her intentions are honest, and you should too. I will introduce you tomorrow. Sleep well, Warden."

The Warden looked at her with fresh admiration. "I trust your judgment, Your Highness, and I defer to your superior intuition," he said smiling and bowing deeply.

"And I clearly made the right choice for the throne. Good night, Your Majesty," he added walking out.

Anora flushed and smiled in gratitude.

-----

"Your Highness," Teagan said as entered, bowing his head, dropping to one knee, "I must speak with you."

The Queen's face lit up, "Teagan! I am pleased to see you! Rise, I wish to speak with you, as well. I would ask for your assistance in rebuilding Denerim, and indeed, Ferelden. There is much to be done, and…" she stopped, noting his distress.

"Forgive me. You are troubled. What can I do?" she offered compassionately.

"I…it is I who should be doing what I can for you," he replied guiltily. He had not taken part in his brother's duplicity, but he felt the shame of it, nonetheless. "I am here to ask you to let me dedicate myself to your service. I would like to take a room here at the castle, where I will be but a moment's notice away should I be needed. You are my Queen, and I wish to do all that I can to help you in these difficult times."

Anora scrutinized his face for a moment before deducing the truth. He knew. He knew about Cailan's plan and Eamon…but his was not the face of a conspirator. He was grieved and ashamed by his brother's actions and was moving to the castle to show his support for her, to help her.

"Oh, my good and loyal Teagan!" she cried, forgetting herself and throwing her arms about his neck. She held him perhaps a moment too long before realizing herself and releasing him. Recovering her composure, she declared more formally, "I…yes, there is much you can help me with. We will work together to restore Ferelden. Thank you for your good and kind offer. You are most welcome to stay here as long as you wish." She was pleased at the turn of events. Perhaps she need not do this alone after all.

Teagan bowed and excused himself. He would stay as long as she needed him. He found himself hoping that would be a very long time.

-----

When the Warden met the young Empress of Orlais, he was taken aback. She was very beautiful, and possessed a bold confidence that added to her attractiveness. She was only two years younger than Morrigan, but there was a wisdom…an air of experience about her that belied her age. She had ruled Orlais for several years already, and was making radical changes to the way things were done in her country. She had imported scholars, artists, musicians, and philosophers into her Court in an effort to advance the thinking and the attitudes of her people. It was her goal to bring about an Age of Enlightenment, a cultural renaissance, promoting universal education, and embracing art, music, and literature. He had heard of the reforms she was attempting to enact, of her aggressiveness in trying to sweep away the layers of corruption that had built up over the centuries. And there were many layers. The stories Leliana had shared of Val Royeaux were a picture of jealousy, deceit, and treachery. It was a good sign for Ferelden that she was making an effort to do things differently from her nefarious forbearers. But he was sure Celene's progressive attitudes were earning her enemies as well as admirers. He hoped for the sake of **his** country that she would be able to survive them.

"Ah, so you are the 'Hero of Ferelden' that I have been hearing so much about, eh?" the Empress said flirtatiously, as she extended her hand to him, nodding her head.

The Warden bowed courteously, secretly hating the term she used. "I am pleased to meet you, Your Majesty," he offered politely.

"You will sit beside me at dinner tonight and regale me with tales of your exploits, I insist," she cajoled, eyes sparkling with excitement.

The Queen, sensing the Warden's discomfort, rescued him, "I'm afraid our good Warden is much too modest to speak of his own bravery, though there are many here who will be most happy to share their stories of his great adventures, your Highness."

Celene nodded apologetically to the Warden, "Forgive me, Warden. At my Court, there are so many vying to boast of their deeds, I can scarcely get them to **stop** talking. 'Tis a welcome relief to find one so accomplished, with so little desire to praise himself for it."

They all laughed, and the Warden found that his suspicion of her was easing. She seemed genuine, intelligent, and warm. The diplomatic dinner was far more entertaining than he had expected. Celene was charming, eloquent, and gracious. As the evening drew to a close, he had excused himself for a breath of fresh air on the balcony, but, in truth, the Warden had found his thoughts drifting back to Morrigan time and again. Perhaps the company of this beautiful woman reminded him of that which he missed the most. Suddenly, the Empress was beside him. He glanced about, noting they were alone.

"You are very handsome, Warden," she said boldly. "Perhaps this journey does not have to be all business. If you are of a mind, I can be very…diplomatic," Celene added invitingly, running her fingers lightly down his chest. There were many things about him that reminded her of Paul, and that intrigued her.

The Warden was at a loss. He had heard of her reputation for taking lovers, and while he was physically tempted, his heart would not let him.

Before he could answer, she saw the haunted look on his face, and spared him the awkwardness of refusal, "Ah, but I see I have made a mistake, no? I thought you were unattached, but you have the look of a tormented lover. I am sorry. It was not my intent to re-injure you," Celene offered sincerely.

"It's…alright, I…still hope to find her," the Warden fumbled.

"Ah, she has escaped you, then. She is a most foolish woman, I believe. I hope that you find what you seek, Warden. But if you should change your mind, Val Royeaux is splendid in the spring," she added playfully, returning to the festivities.

As the Empress of Orlais walked away from the Warden, he thought Ferelden was allying itself with an exceptional woman.


	11. Chapter 11

11.

"Destiny's Child"

By the Gods, she was with child! Surely, it could not be so! Yet, 'twas the only thing that made any sense – the physical changes she had been going through, the fatigue, morning nausea, mood swings. She tried to reconcile the timing of it. It had been nearly six weeks since they had been together. It **was** possible. She sighed, knowing in her heart it was true, yet unsure how to feel. When Flemeth had suggested she bear the Warden's child, Morrigan had resisted the idea fiercely. She knew nothing of children, and felt completely unsuited to be a mother. She felt she had no nurturing maternal instincts – Flemeth had seen to that. But then Morrigan had met the Warden and things had changed. He brought feelings out in her that she did not know she possessed, instincts she did not know she had. By the end of their time together, she had been willing to bear his child because she had loved him and wanted to save his life… and…perhaps…preserve something of what they had shared. Now that it had happened, in such an unexpected way, she was frightened. She felt alone and wholly inadequate.

But as the initial shock of the discovery began to wear off, the idea of carrying **his** child began to please her. There were no ulterior motives. No plots or plans. The ritual had not been performed, and the child would be the product of their union and nothing else. She smiled. She would do her best to raise this child in a manner that would honor the Warden. Perhaps if she applied herself with all determination, she could give the child what it needed – what Flemeth had never given her. She **had** changed, damn him, and she would prove it.

She thought of the Warden and ached to be by his side, to tell him the news and see the glorious smile it would bring to his handsome face, to hold him in her arms. But she knew it was impossible…it would always be impossible. She was an apostate, an apostate now bearing a child that would also be an apostate. He was a Grey Warden, a great man, famous throughout Ferelden, and far better than she deserved. She smiled sadly, wondering what he had seen in her that he should give her his heart. No, they would never be allowed to live quietly, peacefully. She would be hunted down and the child…she shuddered to think of her child…**his** child…taken away and locked up in the Circle Tower, robbed of his freedom and family, and, if he chose to resist, perhaps his life. Should the Warden intervene (and she knew he would), the consequences would be devastating. She vowed to spare him this. She had hurt him to save him and that was the way it must be.

But she would never forget him, would never let her child forget what a truly amazing man he was. She rubbed her womb, head bent down, speaking softly, "I will tell you great tales of your father, and you will grow up proud and strong." She smiled remembering how magnificent he had been that day slaying the archdemon. And then it struck her, and her smile faded. She remembered crumpling to the ground, the pain in her abdomen, the loss of consciousness for no reason. And her blood ran cold. "This is not our child," she thought woefully. And the prospect, which she had accepted so callously before as a means to an end at Flemeth's insistence, filled her with revulsion. She no longer wanted to raise an Old God. Perhaps it was her love for the Warden. Perhaps it was that she no longer craved the power she once did, when Flemeth held sway over her. The Warden had shown her another way and she had no wish to go back.

No, it was not possible. Morrigan had not performed the ritual, and she knew the archdemon could not take the child without the blood magic. So, what had happened? Flemeth would not explain to her exactly how the spell worked, so she did not know what to think. Had the Old God been drawn to the taint of the Warden's child, but been unable to take him? She shook her head as if to convince herself the child could not be possessed. Her mother's plan had failed. The pregnancy was an accident and the Old God was no more. But uncertainty nagged at her. The child would bear watching. She owed the Warden that much.

-----

Flemeth regained her physicality more quickly than even she would have expected. It had been easy to manipulate the party into thinking she had been killed, while she skulked off to heal herself and reevaluate her plan. Morrigan's discovery and subsequent assassination attempt had been unexpected. Flemeth was caught off guard, busy making preparations, and the Warden had nearly made her pay. But he did not know the whole secret to her mortality. Not even Morrigan knew that, she smiled victoriously. And so she lived. She lived to wreak her vengeance on lovely Morrigan and her precious Grey Warden. But her health was failing and her mind not as sharp as it once was. Perhaps she had already waited too long for the transfer. Perhaps she had allowed her age to advance too far this time and it was affecting her judgment. Her razor instincts were muted - dulled by the slow disintegration of her body. But it could not be helped. When Flemeth had formulated her plan, she had known that the timing was immutable. She would have to be more careful, certainly, but patience was what was required here.

Morrigan's takeover was critical to Flemeth. From the moment she had seen the girl playing as a young toddler, Flemeth had sensed the great magical power within her – the vast potential. If developed properly over the years, she would make a magnificent host for Flemeth in years to come, a prospect that made Flemeth lick her lips in greedy anticipation. It had been a simple task to dispatch her parents, snatch her, and convince the child she was her mother. It was a game Flemeth knew well and had played many times before.

Flemeth had trained Morrigan relentlessly, pushing her always, goading her, taunting her, punishing her, and as Morrigan entered womanhood, she was the most powerful mage Flemeth had ever raised. And there had been many "daughters", thought the old witch, smiling sinisterly. Morrigan had matured into a ravishing young woman, powerful beyond even her own understanding – she would be able to manipulate others with ease, and crush them when she was finished.

Flemeth shook her head in disgust. She had spent years indoctrinating Morrigan into the harsh, bitter world she wanted her to know. She had taken pains to squelch any affection, berating the child constantly for any foolish, innocent notions she had entertained, always withholding approval, severely punishing weakness. Flemeth had not thought her "teachings" could be so easily undone, but the Warden was an exceptional man, and the fool girl had fallen in love. Again, an unforeseen outcome. Damn him!

No, Flemeth would not let all that effort go to waste. This was a unique opportunity. She would not let this Warden's interference prevent her from fulfilling her rightful destiny. Over time, Flemeth had come to believe the Warden's honor would not allow him to accept Morrigan's proposition. She did not think he would sacrifice his own child, that he would permit the Old God to live and risk the Blight continuing or another Blight beginning in years to come. In spite of his obvious feelings for Morrigan, Flemeth had decided that this man would never accept her offer to save his own life at the possible expense of others. She had made a grave miscalculation with him, thinking him…weaker, more…malleable, like the other Warden. But Morrigan's best efforts to sway his moral compass had failed, and in an unexpected turn, **he** had influenced **hers**. Flemeth had become unsure that Morrigan would even go through with their scheme.

Thus, she had had to make other arrangements, and she had set a plan in motion which would make things more difficult and time-consuming, but it had seemed to be her only option. When Flemeth was able to regain her form, she had begun to follow them, monitoring the situation, waiting, watching – sometimes a moth fluttering around the campfire, sometimes a bird, or a tiny spider. Whatever form was the least suspicious, the least noticeable. On the fateful night she initiated her plot, she was a small innocuous-looking snake. When Flemeth became convinced the Warden wouldn't allow Morrigan to perform the ritual, she followed the lovers constantly. When the opportunity to cast her own spell to ensure pregnancy presented itself in the Brecilian Forest, she seized it. It would be a weaker spell, and would require two steps instead of the single ritual if Morrigan had performed it on herself. But the old witch knew that blood magic was most powerful when called from within. No matter. She could survive long enough to see this through.

The spells of Fertilization and Appropriation had been cast. Morrigan was impregnated and the way had been paved for the child's possession. In Denerim, the essence of the Old God Urthemiel, the ancient God of Beauty, had left the dragon's form upon its demise and vaulted into Morrigan's womb. Flemeth remembered Morrigan's bewilderment at her collapse with satisfaction. She would not comprehend it all until it was too late. The child would appear to be normal for a time, its dominant soul sharing the body with the unseen dormant essence of the Old God. The Rite of Manifestation could not be performed until the child's 5th year, when his physical and magical development was advanced enough to accept the full majesty of a cognizant Old God. At that point, the child would be a child no more, and Urthemiel would take full possession. And Flemeth would be his conduit to the world, plumbing his secrets, gaining his unimaginable power. Her eyes were alight with madness and lust.

Flemeth would bide her time until the moment was right, staying in shadows, and then all would come together as she had envisioned. A malignant sneer curled her lips. It would be worth the wait.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

"Empire of the Sun"

Morrigan wandered aimlessly for a time after her discovery of the child, uncertain what to do. She found herself in Highever at one point, and made her way to the Cousland estate just to see where the Warden had spent his youth. It gave her no satisfaction, as she thought of the grief he had experienced here. She continued in a westerly direction, avoiding the roving bands of darkspawn that still plagued the countryside. She was sure she could have dispatched them easily, but her concern for the child's safety outweighed her desire to see the darkspawn put down.

Morrigan was one of those blessed women who barely showed her pregnancy, so it was not difficult for her to travel. She had not shapeshifted since she had learned she was with child, for fear of harming him. In truth, she had no idea if changing her form would damage the unborn babe in her womb, but she had begun to feel a connection with him and was not willing to risk it. She was doing many things differently now, taking better care of herself, in general. The child was the important thing now. She would protect it and care for it. It was…all she had, and it was the Warden's.

She was not sick anymore and had begun to feel more like her old self, but highly aware she carried a child inside her. 'Twas a strange feeling, this…to know there was another life inside you. To **feel** there was another life inside you. It was…fulfilling? She laughed aloud at this thought. 'Twas a concept she knew nothing about, and indeed, would never have thought she could use the word thusly. My, but she **had** changed.

Morrigan's musings were interrupted by shouting and the clanging of sword on shield. A battle was pitched! She hurried over the crest of the hill and surveyed the scene below. It was a small party, perhaps eight or ten knights and two women. The knights wore armor strange to her, bearing the symbol of a sun, and they were surrounded by a large group of darkspawn, easily three times their number. They were being overwhelmed. She knew she could help them, but the baby…then she thought of the Warden and knew that **he** would not hesitate. She wondered briefly if displaying her magic in front of these knights would endanger her and the child, then she sighed, and charged down the hill into the midst of the fray.

The odds were heavily against them, but she remembered the strategies the Warden had taught them – divide and conquer, thin and separate, remove the magic threat first. Morrigan immediately raised her arms and threw a Cone of Cold spell at the largest group of darkspawn, eyes scanning about for Emissaries. The Knights regained their footing and went on the offensive, shattering several darkspawn. Morrigan quickly assessed the situation, locating the Hurlock Emissary at the back of the horde and cast a Crushing Prison spell on him to eliminate his magical support. The remaining frozen darkspawn were thawing and rejoining the battle. She quickly cast a Sleep spell and unleashed her lightning. Within minutes, the knights, whose battle prowess was impressive, had gained the advantage, and soon the battle was over. Only one of the knights had been lost and the two women were unharmed.

Morrigan approached the group warily, uncertain how her assistance would be received, given its magical nature. The younger woman advanced, looking relieved. She was clearly the leader. She had fought alongside her knights admirably, and Morrigan nodded her approval. The woman appeared to be her age, perhaps younger, and wore a simple, but elegant, hooded cloak made of a fine material that caught Morrigan's eye, but was not so ostentatious as to draw unwanted attention.

"Thank you, my friend!" the woman gushed, still breathless from fighting. "If you hadn't helped us, I do not believe we would have survived this encounter. We are more than grateful."

Morrigan relaxed a little at the warmth of the greeting she had received from the woman she did not know to be the Empress of Orlais. Not accustomed to the gratitude of others, she replied clumsily, "You are…welcome. I…heard the sounds of battle and having some measure of experience with darkspawn, I thought perhaps I might be of some use."

Celene noted the social awkwardness of this beautiful woman with curiosity. "Well, your assistance is much appreciated. I doubt we could have overcome them without you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Empress Celene of Orlais. We were returning from a diplomatic mission to Denerim when the darkspawn attacked. You are very brave to risk your own life…" and she stopped. The Empress' eyes had at that moment caught the slight bulge that protruded from Morrigan's waist. "You're with child!" she declared, astonished.

Morrigan nodded her head, but felt compelled to chastise them for the risk they took, "I must tell you 'tis foolish to travel these lands with such a small band to protect you. I hope you use better judgment in ruling your country than you show in making travel arrangements," she said off-handedly, indifferent to the stature of her company.

The Empress' party gasped at her insolence. One of the knights approached her threateningly, "You will not speak in such a tone to Her Imperial Highness."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she drew back into a defensive position.

But the Empress raised her hand and commanded, "No, Captain, it's alright." She returned her gaze to Morrigan, assessing this strange and courageous Fereldan. Celene was intrigued. "Please continue," she entreated.

"There are many roaming bands of darkspawn still about and, you should be aware, they will attack without warning or provocation. If you should chance upon an Emissary, the difficulty will be fivefold," Morrigan warned her earnestly.

Celene knew now she was in the presence of no ordinary mage. This woman clearly was well-versed on the darkspawn. This interested her greatly, given the nature of her mission to Ferelden, to unite the two countries against the darkspawn threat. She decided, however, to engage Morrigan at her own game, "And you? You are out here alone…and with child!"

Morrigan flashed a mirthless smile,"But **I** am well-acquainted with darkspawn, I have fought them for many months now. They hold no mystery for me, and I do not fear them."

Celene's eyes widened in disbelief, yet she sensed the Ferelden woman was telling her the truth…and she was impressed. She liked this girl. She was unrefined and rough around the edges, but painfully sincere, and bold. And her awkwardness was charming. After the fawning intrigues of the Orlesian Court, this woman was refreshing…and apparently, an expert on darkspawn.

Celene had always been puzzled by the Fereldans. As a people, they were coarse, willful, and disorganized, yet they somehow gave rise to the prophet Andraste, ushered in an era of enlightenment, and toppled the greatest empire in history, the Tevinter Imperium. She had once said of them, "One can assume a few things in dealing with these people: First, they value loyalty above all things, beyond wealth, power, and reason. Second, although few things in their country are remarkable to outsiders, they are extremely proud of their accomplishments. Third, if one insults their dogs, they are likely to declare war. And finally, one has underestimated Fereldans when he thinks he has come to understand them."

Celene wanted to learn more about these enigmatic people, and so she spent the next hour trying to convince Morrigan to come back to Orlais with her. She had a feeling about Morrigan. She needed someone she could trust…they could help each other.

Morrigan had looked flustered, stammering shamefully, "I…would not...I do not have an admirable history with the truth," thinking of her dealings with the Warden, "You would not want me for a friend and confidante."

Celene had replied, "The mere fact that you would admit such a thing tells me this is not so. Perhaps your past is tainted. Who can say with honesty that they have no regrets? But your future is what you make of it. I can see from the sorrow in your eyes that you would make amends, that you wish to do things differently, yes? Come back with me to Val Royeaux, and we shall work together to make Orlais a better place. Perhaps there you will find the redemption you seek. And your child will have a place to grow. I ask only that you tell me the truth, even if you do not think it is what I wish to hear. I am surrounded by falseness and treachery, whispers and lies. I would have an advisor that offers none of these. You have a unique and personal understanding of the darkspawn threat. There is much we need to know in Orlais if we are to ward off any future threats from them. You can teach us these things."

She paused before continuing, "I will not lie to you now. I have enemies. There

are some who would hurt me, politically and…otherwise. My Court is full of spies and sycophants. You will protect my interests and I will protect yours and those of your child. You are a powerful mage and clearly an apostate who will soon bear a son or daughter. I know the dangers you must face. I am Empress of Orlais, I have power and influence you cannot imagine. The Chantry and the Chevaliers indeed wield great authority, but I am sovereign. They answer to me. You and your cub will have special dispensation and the protection of the Empress. You will have many fine things and you will want for nothing."

Morrigan thought of the golden, jewelled mirror she had marveled at as a young girl.

Celene sensed her wavering and pressed on, "Where will you go if not with me? Do you have a plan?"

She winced at the question, which held more meaning for her than Celene intended. "No, I have no plan," she finally managed.

"Say you will come to Orlais. Say yes", the Empress pleaded.

Morrigan considered the child and knew she could not wander forever. She needed to find a place to settle, at least for a time…at least for the birth. "Yes," she relented softly.

-----

Morrigan could scarcely contain her amazement when she first beheld Val Royeaux. The city was enormous, and grander than any she had seen in Ferelden. The stories of its opulence and extravagance were not exaggerated. She sensed she would need her wits about her at all times if all the tales of spies and assassins were true as well. She wished now that she had listened more carefully to Leliana's tales of Orlais. She would have felt more prepared, and maybe a little less overwhelmed, though she could not have imagined she would end up here, like this. But no matter. She would learn what she needed to know. She was a survivor. Hadn't the Warden called her that on more than one occasion? Ryder. Would she never be able to stop thinking of him?

It would have shocked Morrigan to learn that her travelling companion and new benefactor was, in fact, thinking of the same man. Celene was used to getting her way, and had never been turned down by a man in her young, but eventful, life. She was unsure whether she was insulted. No, she decided. He clearly had a passion for someone else. He was tortured, the victim of a broken heart, she realized too late. She would not have tried to seduce him if she had seen his pain earlier. She genuinely liked the man. What manner of woman would walk out on him? Pity, she thought to herself. Ah well, c'est la vie! Now that she was returning to the city, she must set her thoughts back to more important matters.

Things had gone wonderfully well in Denerim. Queen Anora was a brilliant leader, and Celene liked her very much. She was sure they would work well together. She had hated revealing the evidence of Cailan's attempted treachery to Anora, knowing it would hurt her, but felt that it was the only way to begin the alliance with her honestly. There would be no misunderstandings later. When Cailan had responded to her treaty proposal with an offer of marriage, she was horrified. She would never marry for the sake of government, she had decided long ago, and in truth, she considered Cailan a foppish fool, an excitable child, unfit to run his own country. It was widely known, even in Orlais, that Anora was the true ruler of Ferelden. Celene had always admired the Queen, once declaring her "a solitary rose among brambles". No, she had no intention of marrying Cailan. She could never marry a man like that, if indeed, she ever married at all. She had been through several lovers since Paul, none of whom held her attention for very long. Celene had handled more intelligent and sophisticated men than Cailan, but she had had to maneuver around his hurt feelings in order to retain any hope of an alliance. She had tried to let him down gently, but his communiqués had begun to take on a "hurt child" tone. In desperation, she had abandoned the appropriate formality and adopted an uncharacteristically familiar approach, speaking to him as a mother would: soothing, conciliatory, but firm. And then, Ostagar. Cailan had been killed, and mercifully, Anora was allowed to remain on the throne. She was truly sorry for the Queen's suffering, but Ferelden was the better for it and now, so was Orlais. At last, there was true peace between their countries and perhaps, mutual prosperity would not be far behind.

The sight of Val Royeaux from a distance was always impressive to the Empress, though she rarely left the city. It was a marvel of architecture and gleaming magnificence, grandiose and sparkling. If only the soul of the city was as pure as its physical appearance.

Celene hated all the court intrigues and politics that marked Orlesian society, though they had existed in some form for centuries. But she was trying to change things, to bring about reform. She knew this had made her despised by some of the old school nobility that stood to lose much by her policies. And she also knew that there was always some plot to undermine her. She had imported other enlightened, free-thinking individuals into her Court to try to change the culture of vicious, deceitful fawning and backstabbing that had become so entrenched in the Orlesian nobility. Bards were everywhere, spying, sabotaging her attempts to improve things. And there were assassins. She had survived several attempts by her own ruthless cousins, who had implicated her in her uncle's murder. She had never been able to prove she had not conspired to have him killed, and it still vexed her greatly. These games the Orlesian aristocracy loved to play with their bards wore on her. There was no truth, no peace, no quietude, no trust to be had in her Court. And it made her weary. She yearned for a friend. Except for her lady-in-waiting, Josette, and Henri, the captain of her Orlesian Guard, she trusted no one. There had been Paul, but he was no longer part of her life. She was determined to change things, and she hoped this Fereldan woman could be of help.

The Empress considered it her duty to improve the lot of all Orlesians. She sought to temper extremism and bring about an end to ignorance and petty superstition. Val Royeaux was the birthplace of the Chantry, and while the Empress was a devout believer in the Maker, she was not judgmental or self-righteous, and thought of herself as enlightened. So, she had held the Chantry in Orlais in check, preventing the country from falling victim to the "witch hunt" mentality that plagued Ferelden. Mages in Orlais were allowed to live their lives freely, as long as they broke no laws. Blood mages were still treated harshly if they were found guilty of violence and indeed, barbarically punished. She had no control over these matters.

Celene was proud of the expansion of freedoms and reason she had initiated. But while she seemingly had control of the Chantry, the Chevaliers, the great order of knight-nobles of Orlais, worried her. Her authority as Empress was absolute, but the Chevaliers had become too powerful and heavy-handed, with unlimited rights, and sometimes, unlimited cruelty. They were a source of increasing conflict with the peasantry, and she feared, if left unchecked, their oppression could bring about civil war. They were, without doubt, Orlais' greatest soldiers, and many were good and honorable men, but power corrupts, and the Chevaliers, on the whole, had a great deal of power. It was a delicate situation, as they were revered by many, but Celene was trying to bring about a more just and equitable society. Reigning in the Chevaliers was a priority.

There was much to be done, but the Empress felt better about her chances now. She had two strong new allies: Ferelden and Morrigan.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

"Separation Anxiety"

The Warden had done much to unite Ferelden and the Queen knew she would need the continued assistance of the Grey Wardens. The focus was on reestablishing the order at Amaranthine on the northeastern coast. The country would need more Wardens to fend off a new invasion. Anora had asked the Warden to oversee this effort, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and leaving Alistair to attend to this task, he left to pursue his own needs.

He searched in vain for Morrigan, hoping to find some trace of her that might lead him to another sign…anything to keep him moving forward, to give him hope. But he found nothing. "How can I hope to find her, if she doesn't wish to be found?" he had thought morosely. Occasionally, when he was alone and all was quiet, he had a strange sensation – it was as though he **felt** her. It always seemed to emanate from the ring she had given him. Morrigan had claimed it formed a connection between them, and he was sure on those nights, that wherever she was, she was thinking of him. He felt her regret and sorrow. But these bittersweet instances were so infrequent, he could not help but wonder if it was not his own yearnings that created such impressions. And never did the ring give him any indication of a direction to follow. He would not allow himself to ever lose hope that he would see Morrigan again, but he knew he could not look for her forever. His responsibilities weighed heavy on him. Ferelden looked to him for many things now. He was a Warden, but also the Teyrn of Highever and Amaranthine, and a trusted advisor to the Queen. His brother, Fergus, had survived the Blight, mercifully, and Ryder had asked him to look after Highever, but he could not continue to shirk the rest of his duties. After seven months of fruitlessly scouring the country, he turned back to Denerim with a heavy heart, and set about the business of being a Grey Warden.

-----

The baby was born in 9:31 Dragon Age, the 31st year of the 9th age since the crowning of the Chantry's first Divine. It was a boy, strong and healthy, and Morrigan gave birth to him with a strange mix of utter joy, terror at her own potential inadequacy, and inconsolable grief at the absence of his father. Celene was mercifully at her side for the event, and she was grateful.

Both Morrigan and the Empress had kept their words. Celene had an advisor she felt she could trust and Morrigan had found a haven, however temporary, for her and her child. In truth, they had made progress on Celene's reforms, and while the animosity had grown from the old nobility, the physical threats had diminished, as all had come to respect Morrigan's power through the bards' tales of her rescue of the Empress.

But there was an uneasy peace in the Empress' Court at Val Royeaux. Many of her ideas went against centuries of tradition. At the core of her beliefs was the critical questioning of traditional institutions, customs, and morals. She embraced freedom, religious tolerance, and reason as primary values in society. She championed education and had built the Academie d'Orlaise to broaden the minds and hearts of her people. But Celene's dedication to modernization and enlightenment threatened many in power, and while she was moving forward, it seemed at a snail's pace, and not without risk.

Their chief opposition to mage reforms came from Baron de Winter, an exceedingly pompous, small-minded noble who had his dirty hands in a dozen illegal enterprises and twice as many blackmail schemes. He loathed and feared mages, Morrigan in particular, and used his connections in the Chantry to undermine her frequently. The Baron was always trying to incite public opinion to curtail their freedoms, and return to the old ways, preying on suspicion and paranoia to inhibit the progress Celene had tried to make in ending ignorance and old prejudices.

The Baron was everything Celene hated about Orlesian aristocracy - petty, corrupt, and dangerous. It infuriated Morrigan when he spewed forth his bigoted tirades, and it was all the Empress could do to keep the sorceress from hurling a lightning bolt at him every time she encountered him. Celene reminded her that it would just give his arguments credence.

"Please, Empress, just a small shock. He will not feel it…overmuch. Perhaps an icicle hanging from his nose? At least let me make him fall asleep in the midst of one of his excruciating speeches. Your people will thank you for it," Morrigan had begged, only partially joking. But as much as she despised de Winter, she knew the Empress was right. The balance was delicate here. Hmmph. Politics. This was not her way. Morrigan preferred direct action to resolve a problem. And she would have dearly **loved** to resolve some of Celene's problems for her, but she respected the Empress' position and refrained from using her problem-solving skills.

Celene shared Morrigan's frustration, but the Empress was wise for her years and knew that these things would take time. And Morrigan would help her. Already, they had formed a council on darkspawn matters, led by Morrigan, who looked highly uncomfortable in her role, the Empress had thought with amusement. She was certainly not accustomed to conducting meetings of state, and Celene could see it chafed her to do so. But Morrigan was honoring her end of their bargain, and Celene had seen to it that Morrigan and her child would not be bothered by the Chantry or the Chevaliers. It was working out better than she had hoped.

-----

And so it went for 2 years. Morrigan had carved out a niche for herself and her son. She had named the boy Brycan, after the Warden's father, thinking that would have pleased him. He was a beautiful child, smart and precocious, and mercifully, had never shown any signs of possession by the Old God. Morrigan finally felt free of that nightmare. Flemeth seemed a distant fear, and she was far from Ferelden, so Morrigan had begun to relax. She thought of the Warden less now, though always it came at a price, for it left her melancholy. She had called upon the magic of the ring she had given him many times, just to know he was safe, and perhaps, though she did not admit it to herself, to know that he still wore it and thought of her.

She had learned the intrigues and intricacies of the Orlesian Court, and the Empress had seen to it that she had wealth and fine things beyond her own imagining. Morrigan had found it strange that they seemed so meaningless after a short time, when she had marveled at such extravagances as a child. Now, her son was all-important to her, and her friendship with Celene, which had seen her through a dark time. She had never known the meaning of the word "friend", but she suspected this was what it must be like. She had spoken to Celene on many things, even of Flemeth, though only in vague terms (Morrigan had no desire to be called a "Witch of the Wilds" here in Orlais.) But she would not speak of the Warden. She had hoped that her grief would lessen and dull and that the memory of him would ease as time passed, but it was not so. She still felt the ache, the pangs of loneliness, almost as acutely as she had when she first left him. It was still too painful for her - the pain of loss, the hurt she knew she had caused him, and knowing she withheld his son from him. Celene knew nothing of the man that had fathered Morrigan's son, only that it was agony for Morrigan to think upon. And so, she respected Morrigan's privacy on the matter.

Morrigan had helped Orlais prepare their defenses, and all within the Empress' fighting forces knew how to deal with the darkspawn. She had been surprised that so many of the darkspawn still roamed the countryside this long after the death of the archdemon. Morrigan was given to understand they would go to ground if not led by the dragon, but this had not been so. Certainly, they seemed less organized, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were different now, more…intelligent? She sometimes felt they were evolving in some way. But this was foolish conjecture on her part. Still, the strategies she had learned in her time with the Warden had needed to be modified to accommodate this. Even so, the Orlesians had met with success due to Morrigan's efforts, and it was no small source of pride to her.

The Chevaliers were, like the Templars, sworn to hunt down maleficars among their other duties, and even though the attitudes towards mages in Orlais were more relaxed than those in Ferelden, she was greeted with suspicion, and it was clear she was not welcome in their presence. This made her position difficult as it required frequent interaction with the order of knights. She had earned the respect of many of the country's soldiers through her fearlessness in battle and wise counsel, but it had only engendered jealousy and hatred from the leaders of the Chevaliers. Between Celene's efforts to curtail their excesses, and Morrigan's newfound role in their defense plans, she had made enemies. They blamed Morrigan for supplanting their influence in Orlais, for weakening their position. The Knight-Commander of the Chevaliers in Val Royeaux, Acharne, was certain that she had schemed and conspired to earn her place, as was common practice in the Court, and **uncertain** she had not, in fact, bewitched the Empress. Morrigan and the commander developed an instant distaste for each other. He was a vile, base man given to cruelty, jealous, and arrogant beyond his station. Celene had never cared for him, but his rank was born of position and battle performance and, as yet, she had found no plausible reason to rescind his title of Knight-Commander. The Empress suspected that he harbored ill will towards her as well, for her reforms did not meet with his approval. He believed the country should be ruled with an iron fist, brooking no dissension, and punishing transgressions severely. Tolerance was a weakness to him, and the Empress had shown much tolerance. Celene did not, in fact, realize how much Acharne hated her, not only for her enlightened policies, but for her elevation of Morrigan to a stature he felt **he** deserved.

Acharne was adept with a sword, but he was not quick-witted, and Morrigan regularly humiliated him in their dialogues. This infuriated him. Her instincts told her it was not wise to antagonize this overbearing buffoon, but Morrigan had never been known for diplomacy or restraint, and would not disguise her opinion with fawning pleasantries. Acharne despised Morrigan, and while she did not fear him overtly, he was the kind of contemptible, spineless knave who would have had her and Brycan poisoned or murdered in their sleep. In honorable combat she knew she was superior, but he was not honorable, and this she could not defend against. So, Morrigan made it a point to watch him closely for signs of treachery.

-----

Morrigan had been invited to a state dinner for the Ambassadeur de Lorean and his family, Orlesian nobility returning from a visit to Ferelden. The Empress was anxious to hear news of the country's progress since the Blight. She had become friends with Queen Anora and enjoyed the letters they exchanged. The Ambassadeur's two daughters, 19 and 23, were giggling over a man they had met at Anora's court, and while she would have preferred more intellectual conversation, she politely half-listened to the girls raving and swooning, more out of political necessity, than a desire to actually know anything about the object of their affections. But when she heard the terms 'Grey Warden' and 'Hero of Ferelden' she could not resist falling in with their banter. She remembered how impressive he was. The Warden happened to be at the castle in Denerim during the Ambassadeur's visit and, after meeting him, the young women had set about gathering all the details about his legend they could coax out of the locals. And, of course, as young women will do when the topic of their infatuation arises, they made a point of breathlessly telling the tales of his adventures, and of the mysterious woman who had travelled with him, battling darkspawn at his side for almost a year, then disappearing without a trace and leaving him heartbroken.

The eldest girl sighed, "So romantic…I'd like to heal him." Then she giggled, nudging her sister as though no one in the room would know what that meant.

"I would never leave a man like that. He's so…" the other girl said, stopping when she caught her father's disapproving glare.

Celene laughed, leaning in conspiratorially, "I, too, have met him and thought he was exquisite. I would have bed him myself, but he was hopelessly obsessed with this woman. Of course, that was two years ago, I'm sure he's over her by now. Perhaps I should go back to Ferelden on another diplomatic mission, to improve our relations with our Fereldan friends!"

The girls giggled again, nudging each other. The ambassadeur and his wife chuckled appropriately at their Empress' risque humor. And Celene, quite proud of her own clever innuendo, glanced at Morrigan with a coquettish smile on her face, fully expecting Morrigan's sardonic smile in return.

Morrigan had listened, hoping for some news, of what she was not sure. But as the conversation had progressed, and she had heard her grief paraded in front of her so cavalierly, it had become too much to bear. Had he moved on to other women? She thought of Leliana. Unable to swallow the lump in her throat and with barely concealed tears welling in her eyes, she turned her head and excused herself as being unwell.

Celene was shocked at Morrigan's reaction, though no one else seemed to notice. In spite of Morrigan's efforts to hide it, she was ashen, as though stricken, and the Empress was certain Morrigan was on the verge of weeping. In all the time they had known each other, she had never seen Morrigan shed tears. How had she become ill so suddenly? She seemed fine moments before they were talking about the Warden…by the Maker, the Warden! It all became clear in a flash: the timing of her first encounter with Morrigan, the age of the child, Morrigan's experience with the darkspawn, her mysterious refusal to discuss the child's father, who she obviously still loved. She gasped with horror at the things they had just said in front of her.

Celene had ended the evening as quickly as she could, and gone to see her friend. Morrigan was staring wistfully out the window, her mind a thousand miles from Orlais, in a forest under a moonlit sky. Celene swallowed hard and approached Morrigan guiltily. "I'm so sorry, Morrigan. I did not know. I could not have known that the Warden was the man that has haunted you these many months. Perhaps I should have unraveled it sooner, but I did not. I did not mean to hurt you with my callous words. I can be…insensitive at times. Please forgive me, " she appealed earnestly.

Morrigan looked back slightly over her shoulder and shook her head, her eyes shining, "There is nothing to forgive. I did not tell you. 'Twas not your purpose to wound, I know this." She sighed and continued, "'Tis a relief you know."

"But I met him," Celene said, trying to make sense of the situation, "He wouldn't give me a second glance. His thoughts were of you alone. It is clear you care for him, yes? Forgive me for asking, but why did you leave him?" The Empress could not understand what could have driven them apart so completely. Celene allowed herself to think of Roget for a moment, and then banished him from her thoughts. Perhaps she **could** understand how two people could care for each other and still be separated.

Morrigan looked off into the distance sadly, as though remembering a dream from long ago, answering with emotion, "Because I am an apostate and he is the hero of Ferelden. Because I wronged him and I am not worthy of him. Because I loved him."

"And the child? What of the child?" Celene asked.

Morrigan said, "I did not know when I left that I was with child. But it matters not. 'Tis more reason to stay away. When the child's magic develops, he, too, will be an apostate. I will not put the Warden in the position of defending us."

The Empress thought for a moment and said, "But you are not considered an apostate in Orlais. The Warden could join us here. He would be welcomed into our Grey Warden order."

Morrigan shook her head, "He is a noble of Ferelden and loyal to his country. He has many responsibilities there. I could not ask him to leave. And I cannot join him. So, you see, there is nothing to be done."

And Celene could think of nothing else to say, no way to make things right for her friend, so she whispered simply, "I am sorry." Then she clasped Morrigan's shoulder supportively, and left the inconsolable sorceress to her solemn thoughts.

Morrigan thought of the ring, and checked to see if she could feel his presence, as she had done so many times before when she was lonely, always sensing him, knowing where he was, gleaning both comfort and anguish from it. For several days now, she had known where the ring was, for it had not moved, but she did not feel **him**. Had he, as Celene suggested, gotten over her? Had he removed the ring, finally? Or worse, after cheating death a thousand times, had her Warden finally perished? Her eyes welled with tears again. And this time, she could not stop them from spilling over.


	14. Chapter 14

14.

"With This Ring, I Thee Dread"

It had been almost two weeks since she had last felt a connection to her Warden in the ring. Its location had not changed. Either the ring was no longer on his hand, or his heart no longer beat beneath his chest. But was it his decision, or his fate? Morrigan could not shake her fear, nor ease her anxiety. She could not live without knowing, and so, with great haste and greater apprehension, she made preparations to go to collect the ring. While Celene looked after Brycan, Morrigan would learn what had happened to his father, the man she loved.

-----

The Warden's life had been a blur of frenetic activity since the death of the archdemon. He had searched for Morrigan off and on for a great deal of it, always thinking the next time would surely bring news of her. But always, he was doomed to bitter failure. His only solace had been the ring, in those rare moments when he felt her. Though his opportunities to be with other women had been many, his desire was absent, and he had buried himself in his duties.

The Queen had done much for the country, and Ferelden was beginning to thrive again. Bann Teagan Guerrin was a permanent fixture at the castle in Denerim, and he had become an invaluable friend and ally to Anora. In fact, the Warden was not sure it had not become more than that, the way they looked at each other sometimes. He was happy for them. They had been through much, and the Warden liked and respected them both.

He also had to give a fair amount of credit to the Empress of Orlais. She had been of considerable assistance to Anora and their alliance had proven highly beneficial to Ferelden. The Grey Wardens had made great use of the herd of strange creatures she had sent as a gift from her country…horses, they were called. They were noble, gentle animals and equally adept at hauling equipment and men. The Warden had learned to ride a great white steed, and it had allowed him to travel quickly around the country.

The Alienage was new and unrecognizable as a slum. The elves there were happier, more respected, and more productive. They were flourishing under their newfound freedoms. Even relations with the Dalish had improved and they wandered freely across the country and occasionally through the cities.

In Orzammar, it was politics as usual, which meant constant political infighting, but the ties between the dwarves and the other races of Ferelden had been strengthened, and trade flourished.

The Circle of Magi had been rebuilt and reorganized, and under the Queen's guidance was more relaxed in its approach to untrained mages. The Chantry and the Circle were working together to repeal some of the harsher measures they had exacted in years past. Ferelden was truly trying to break free of its oppressive past in which mages were criminals before people. Wynne had played no small part in this era of new thinking and the Warden was grateful. It gave him hope for Morrigan.

The Grey Wardens had established a new order at Amaranthine and the Warden's Keep was thriving. There were many who volunteered to become Grey Wardens now, but Ryder was in command and had insisted that all be informed of the risks and consequences of their actions in advance. There would be no more unsuspecting deaths, no conscripts by omission, no lives cut short without permission. Still, the call to glory and honor was strong. The ranks of the Ferelden Grey Wardens had swelled to forty-eight fine men and women in the months since the Blight ended.

The Warden still had difficulty with the concept of the Blight being over. There were far too many darkspawn about for his liking. He had been told they would disband and disappear after the archdemon's demise, and it troubled him that there were so many still wreaking havoc on his country. He had noted with growing discomfort that their tactics were changing as well. The old methods of defeating them were becoming less successful. He didn't understand it, given what he knew about them, but they seemed more intelligent now. As a result, he was spending more time in the field fighting them, learning, gauging.

This last time had nearly cost him his life. The Warden had been on a reconnaissance mission alone, as he had done countless times in the past. He had come to the site of a darkspawn ambush, now littered with bodies, when he had been outmaneuvered, and struck down. When he awoke, he was in a bed back at Amaranthine, nearly a week later. He had sustained major trauma to his head and, if not for the Spirit Healer at the fort, he might not have survived it at all. He recovered sufficiently over the next few days to allow him to return to some of his duties, but as gathered his equipment together, he realized, with panic setting in, that the ring Morrigan had given him was no longer on his hand. He searched everywhere, asked everyone, but to no avail. The ring was gone. And with it, his only connection to **her**.

-----

Morrigan arrived in the Fereldan village that her magic told her held the ring with great trepidation. She wanted to know…had to know, yet she was filled with dread, for none of the answers that might await her were ones she wished to hear. Either he no longer loved her or he no longer lived. She was not sure she could bear it, no matter the outcome. To avoid recognition, she wore a simple, but elegant, hooded cloak. Morrigan took a deep breath and entered the shop.

"I am looking for a ring," she said firmly, describing it in detail to the merchant, "and I will pay handsomely for it."

"Ah yes, that came to me recently. A beautiful piece, a family heirloom, as I understand it, very valuable," he lied, trying to inflate its value. He held it out to her.

For a moment, she said nothing, trying to control the emotion rising in her. It was the Warden's ring. Had he sold it? Had it meant so little to him that it was worth only a few silver in the end? Morrigan glared coldly at the merchant, "You lie as to the ring's origins. Do not attempt to deceive me again. Where did you get it? How did it come to be in your possession?"

The merchant swallowed hard. He could not see her face well because of the hood, but he could tell she was striking, with strange golden eyes. And, at that moment, he was afraid of her. "I…it was sold to me by a man, maybe…three weeks ago. He…he said he took it off one of the bodies at South Reach, after the darkspawn attack…I swear, that's what he said, and I believe him. It was bad over there. Lots of people killed, soldiers, townsfolk. Damn darkspawn! Look, I'll give it to you for a real good price, how about 10 silver, that's fair, right? Is that fair? You decide."

But Morrigan was no longer listening to him. She felt as though she had died inside, and none of it mattered anymore. She laid a sovereign on the counter, took the ring and numbly walked out the door. The storekeeper peered out his window, watching her walk away, shaking his head, marveling at her unexpected generosity.

She felt as thought she would collapse under the weight of the news, her legs barely moving. She looked about and saw an inn, and stumbled in, clutching all that she had left of him, save his child. Morrigan took a room, knowing she could not travel back to Orlais until she regained her strength. And there she stayed for three days, unable to function, stricken with grief, mourning the loss of that which she had given away.

-----

The Warden could not let go of the ring Morrigan had given him. Damn her! She had abandoned him, why was it so important to him to get the ring back? He had no answer. He knew only that it represented hope for him and **that** he was not prepared to give up. He knew the ring was in his possession at the battlefield at South Reach. Surely none of his rescuers would have removed it. That left scavengers. And scavengers would sell anything they could lay their hands on, so he set out to scour the surrounding villages for any stalls or shops that might have bought it. When he had arrived at the fourth village, and asked at the local merchant about the ring that had been taken from him , the shop owner became nervous and wailed, "I…I didn't know it was stolen, I swear it! He told me he got it off a dead man. I don't want any trouble!"

The Warden was relieved. He had found it at last. "It's alright, I believe you. Just return it to me now. I'll give you a fair price," he said equitably.

"I…I can't. I sold it. Three days ago, if I remember right, to a woman who come in here asking for the same ring. She gave me a lot of money for it, more than I asked for even, so I sold it to her," he said, getting nervous again.

Suddenly, the Warden found his pulse racing, "What are you talking about? A woman was here? You sold the ring? Did...did she ask for **that** ring, that **exact** ring?" he asked frantically, his mouth dry, his heart pounding out of his chest.

The shopkeeper's eyes widened. This one was worse than the woman! "Y..yes…she asked for **that** ring, She wanted to know how I got it. I told her, and I sold it to her. She looked kinda sick, and she left. Saw her walk over to the inn, but that was a few days ago."

The Warden couldn't think straight. Morrigan was here? After the ring? No, it had to be someone else. After all his searching, to have such an accidental encounter? "What did she look like?" he asked the merchant, agitated.

"I don't know. She was wearing this cloak with a hood. Couldn't tell anything about her except her eyes, she had these amazing golden ey…" he stopped mid-sentence, as the Warden had already bolted out the door at a breakneck pace.

-----

Morrigan had composed herself enough to travel. She had to get back to her son…the Warden's son. He needed her, and she would not fail **him** as she had his father. She still clutched the Warden's ring in her hand. She opened her palm to look at it one last time before departing. At that moment, the door to her bedroom at the inn flew open. The Warden stood before her…he lived!

They stared at each other for several seconds in stunned silence, neither willing to move for fear it wasn't real, that it was some dream in the Fade that would melt away if challenged.

Morrigan finally stammered weakly with equal parts relief and disbelief, "You…you're alive! He told me…I thought…" And her eyes shone with a gratitude and happiness she had never felt before. She started towards him, a great smile forming on her lips.

The Warden's initial reaction was so overwhelming, he nearly raced across the room to take her in his arms, so great was his joy to see her again. And then, something happened. Three years of frustration and hurt and bitterness rose up in him, smothering his joy, and his heart hardened. He could not think clearly and an unexpected and irresistible anger took over.

She threw her arms about his waist, "You're alive! Thank the Gods, you're alive!" Morrigan had lost all sense of her former restraint. All her resolve to protect the Warden by staying away from him vanished in one moment of unbridled relief. She held him tightly, murmuring, "There is so much to tell you, so much you need to know. Forgive me, my Grey Warden, I will explain everything…" And she stopped, noting he had not embraced her in return. His body was tense, rigid.

While she clung to him, his mind raced, his emotions tossing about wildly inside him – anger and passion and love and resentment. The chaos it had generated in him to see her again like this was like a raging maelstrom, and it crippled him. He had raised his arms to envelop her, and the urge to hold her was replaced immediately by a desire to hurt her as she had hurt him. The conflict seethed inside him and he tensed, finally seizing her shoulders and pushing her away roughly.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What game do you play now, Morrigan? You came here for the ring, nothing more. You did not come for me. You have had three years for that. Take your ring and go. I am sure there are other fools out there who will succumb to your charms as easily as I. You can give the ring to another and start your schemes anew," he offered icily, unable to stop the venomous flow from his lips.

Her eyes widened in shock. His tone was so cold, his demeanor so caustic and angry. What had she **done** to him?

"I…no…I do not…I have no desire to give the ring to another. I came because…I thought you had been…I did not feel you in the ring anymore and I was afraid you were…" Morrigan could not finish.

The Warden stood, arms folded, unwilling to ease her discomfort, unable to believe her. He had believed her before.

"I know I have grieved you, and I am truly sorry for all the suffering I have caused you. But you must believe me now when I tell you 'twas never my intent to hurt you. I have cared for you as I have no other man. 'Tis true, when I first met you, I did things I am not proud of, things Flemeth had taught me, things she had wished me to do. 'Tis no excuse, I know. But I am different now, I have changed. **You** have changed me. When I left you, I wished only to protect you. What could I offer you?" she said, eyes shining, but determined not to shed tears. "I am an apostate. You are the Grey Warden Commander, the hero of Ferelden. What hope did we have for a life together? I would not have you live as a fugitive or die trying to protect me. I left you not because I wanted to, but because I had to," she tried to explain.

At that moment, it was more important to Morrigan than her own life that he understand. She needed him to be the way he was, the way she remembered him. She could not bear to think that she had created this embittered, cold-blooded man that stood before her. He **had** to understand.

The Warden's inner turmoil threatened to swallow him whole. He wanted to believe her, but he was tired of deception and pain, and turning his back to her, he said, "I will not believe your lies any longer. Do not waste your manipulative skills on me. Find someone else to bewitch."

Morrigan winced at this last barb. He had never, in all the time she had known him, made reference to her being a witch. Others had flung the word at her cruelly, often enough that she had grown immune to its use. But when the Warden had leveled it at her, she was cut by it, in a way she had never been.

"I did not bewitch you…though I could have. I tell you truly, what was between us was real. But…I can see now that you no longer feel such things, and I…will go," she said deeply wounded. "I…wanted to tell you everything. But 'tis apparent you want no more to do with me. I hope one day you can forgive me, but please do not let what I have done change who you are, I am not worth it. Be the man I know you to be. Goodbye, my Grey Warden, I will always love you," she said emotionally to his unyielding back.

Her final words pierced the shroud of anger that had clouded his heart. Morrigan had never spoken the words to him before, and he knew what it must have cost her to say them. She had changed, he had seen it himself, and if the things she had just told him were true, and he was beginning to believe they were, then he could understand why she had left him. It was her naive and misguided attempt to save him from a life fraught with peril as an apostate's lover. And Maker's Breath! He still loved her beyond all reason. In that instant, he forgave her everything. As the fog in his brain lifted, the Warden turned to take her in his arms, to tell her he still loved her, but she was gone, the door ajar.

"No," he whispered, bolting out of the room into the street. But he saw nothing of her, and, for the first time since he had met her, he cursed her shapeshifting ability. Perhaps if he checked her room, he could gain a sense of where she might be going. He nearly tore the room apart, trying to find some small piece of evidence that might lead him to her, but there was nothing. He sat on her bed and placed his head in his hands, grief overtaking him. He had lost her a second time. How had this happened? He had never felt such rage before. Perhaps he had been angrier with her than he had realized, and seeing her again had brought it to the surface. His foot grazed something on the floor and he picked up the object. It was the ring. He studied it for a long time, his memories swirling about, much as the shapes on the ring. Then he placed it back on his finger, as he had come here to do, and began the trip back to Amaranthine.

He was back where he started three years ago, not knowing where to go to find her. No, things were not the same as when she left. At last, he felt he understood her actions. The Warden would never give up looking for Morrigan now, and until he found her, the knowledge that she loved him would have to suffice.

-----

Flemeth smiled as she followed Morrigan back to Orlais. She had seen the Warden enter the village as Morrigan lay in her bed mourning him. This had been unexpected and unwelcome. She had quickly formulated a plan to manipulate him. She must not let the Warden become entangled with her daughter again, no matter the cost, but Morrigan must not suspect Flemeth's involvement, not yet. She had cast Disorient and Demon Rage spells on him to muddle his thoughts and inflame the suppressed anger she knew he must harbor over Morrigan's abandonment. It was only necessary to prevent them from reuniting, after all. And it had worked perfectly. Thinking he hated her, Morrigan had finally given up on her Warden. This would make things much easier later. Flemeth did not fear the Warden exactly, but he had continued to surpass her expectations of him, which made her uneasy. It would be better if he were not in Morrigan's life when the time came. And it was not so far away now, thought Flemeth gleefully.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

"To Sleep, Perchance to Dream"

Brycan's fourth birthday had been eventful. The Empress had thrown a magnificent party for him and Morrigan was touched. He was such a bright lad, truly something special, she thought proudly. She had been thinking of late she could not continue to withhold this child from his father. Neither of them deserved it, and she had no right to deprive them of each other. The boy should know what a wonderful man his father was, and the Warden could not help but love his amazing son, even if the child did spring from his union with her. She would deal with whatever painful consequences the revelation brought to her, but she would have to find a way to tell the Warden and at least give him the chance to get to know his own son.

Morrigan made her way to her bedroom that night, dreading what was to come. She was having the strangest recurring dream of late. It troubled her greatly, and she had begun to approach each night with apprehension. She had always had a strange connection to the Fade, so, for her, sleep was not always restful, and rarely was it uneventful. But she knew the Fade, understood its denizens. They held no mystery for her, and she was expert at recognizing her dreams as illusion. But this was different. It seemed no ordinary dream, no illusion, and it repeated the same always. She was speaking to a being she could not recognize. Its features were unclear, yet she knew it to be no demon of the Fade. Morrigan did not know the language she spoke, but, more importantly, she did not seem to be…**her**. It was as though she were someone else speaking to this being. Morrigan sensed its power, and the deference she paid it was obvious, but she could tell nothing else and the dream would reveal no more. 'Twas most disturbing. She sighed and set about trying to sleep.

Morrigan had the sense of being in the Fade, so she knew she was asleep. A great and beautiful wolf approached her and spoke in hushed tones, "The child is in danger. You must make your way to Wynne. She will tell all," the wolf looked about nervously.

Morrigan was in no mood for spirit nonsense this night, so she dismissed it as she always had, "Begone, Spirit! I know all of your tricks, and I do not choose to play your game tonight."

"No," the wolf whispered, "no trick. We must not be seen talking. He is not yet fully aware, but His perceptions are stronger in the Fade, and if He hears us, He will surely destroy me."

"Who are you talking about, beast? Out with it, before I lose my patience," she queried, irritated, but also becoming intrigued.

"The whispers. I have heard the whispers. They grow louder each day. It is the Old God. It is Urthemiel. He will take the child soon, if you do not act. I can say no more here, you must go to Wynne," the creature entreated softly.

Morrigan was stunned and horrified. It was not possible. And once again, her mind raced back to that day in Denerim when she collapsed at the death of the archdemon. She had been pregnant, she knew now, but the ritual? How could this be?

"The whispers," the wolf repeated, shaking his head as though trying to expel the sounds, "the whispers, they pain my ears. And they grow stronger. The God prepares for the Manifestation. Wynne…"

Morrigan could scarcely accept what she was hearing. Her heart would not allow her to conceive of it. It must be a trick. She tried one more time to dismiss the wolf. Morrigan pronounced defiantly, "Why should I believe you, Spirit? The Fade is full of tricksters and lies."

"Believe, or not believe. I am the Spirit of Faith that has watched over Wynne lo, these many years. I come at her bequest, in a form you have an affinity for, to warn you. The Old God will have the child, and the time draws near." With that, the wolf Spirit turned away, but Morrigan stopped her.

"Wait! Is this what the dreams mean? The dreams with the strange being? Is it the Old God?" knowing the answer as she asked it. "Why am I talking to it? Is it a portent of things to come? Please, tell me!" she begged.

The wolf turned back over its shoulder and replied, "It is only that which **may** be, not that which **must** be." And the beast ran off.

Morrigan awoke with a start, breathing labored. This was no ordinary dream. She knew in her sinking heart that this was the truth. That which she had feared the most was coming to pass. And she had to find a way to stop it. Morrigan flew out of the bed and began preparing for her journey to Lake Calenhad and the Circle of Magi Tower in hopes of finding Wynne.

-----

Both Wynne's Spirit of Faith and Morrigan were hearing the call of the Old God. She had not understood this before, but now it was clear. She was so attuned to the Fade that she was able to see and hear Urthemiel when she was there, even as she did not comprehend him. The wolf heard whispers. Morrigan's dreams were her interpretation of his calls. She must share this revelation with Wynne.

She looked out the window of the coach Celene had so graciously given her to speed her journey to the Circle Tower. She would normally have taken the shape of a bird and flown to arrive as quickly as possible, but with Brycan in tow, that was impossible. After almost five years in Orlais, she still marveled at the strange creatures Orlesians used to transport themselves. Horses. Ferelden had no such beasts, except those donated by the Empress. They were gentle and fast and willing to be tamed, yet they retained a wild spirit she admired. 'Twas the first beast she had learned to shapeshift into after the baby was born. Two of the magnificent steeds drew her carriage towards Lake Calenhad much faster than if she and Brycan had made the trip on foot.

Morrigan looked lovingly at her son staring out the carriage window across from her. She had not asked him if he knew of the Old God. She had been afraid to know the answer. But they were nearing the Tower, and she could delay no longer.

She must be delicate. Morrigan didn't know what effect her questions might have on the child…or Urthemiel. "Brycan?" she began gently, "have you been feeling well lately? Is there anything different? Are you having any curious dreams?"

The boy looked at her strangely for a moment, as though considering how to answer. It was a calculated act, not that of a four-year-old boy. Not that of her Brycan. It sent chills down Morrigan's spine.

She pressed him now, feeling an urgency, "Do you ever hear things? Someone else talking to you? Whispers inside your head?"

This question brought an expression she had not seen from him before - suspicion. And then it was gone, replaced by his usual childlike innocence. Her son hesitated. But he looked guilty. "I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's a secret."

Morrigan was stunned. This being was inside her son and was directing him? Were they already too late? No, she would not accept this. Damn you, Flemeth!

"What…what does he say to you?" she continued, unsure she wanted to know.

"I don't know what the words are. I just know what he means. Urthemiel's my friend and he wants me to keep it a secret, so I can't tell you anything," he said, ending the conversation and returning to his staring out the window.

And Morrigan felt the blood drain from her face as she slumped back against the carriage seat.


	16. Chapter 16

16.

"Wynne-Win Situation"

An exquisite Orlesian Imperial carriage pulled up to the dock at Lake Calenhad. The woman in the carriage was dressed in a beautiful velvet hooded cloak that hid her face. She traveled with a child and would not give her name. She would only tell the Templar that she must speak to Wynne and she required passage.

The tavern patrons were captivated by the elegant carriage and the strange creatures that pulled it. Morrigan stepped up to the local representative of the Mage's Collective and informed him that should anything happen to her carriage and horses, she would hold him personally responsible. Something in the way she said it made him swallow hard. He agreed to look after the conveyance. Then she smiled sweetly and handed him five sovereigns, adding she would return shortly.

-----

Wynne knew nothing of Morrigan's life for the past five years. So, when she was summoned to speak with the mysterious visitor who had arrived in a carriage bearing the Imperial Orlesian seal, it shocked her when it was Morrigan who leaned in to entreat her, "Please, tell no one who I am. No one must know I am here, I beg you." And Morrigan had reached out to touch Wynne's hand, a gesture so uncharacteristic of the old Morrigan that Wynne started.

"Very well," she said intrigued, not certain what to make of this woman in her finery with the manners to match. Curious, Wynne thought.

Wynne had been given very little information by her Faith Spirit about Morrigan. Wynne only knew that she had a four-year-old child that held the essence of Urthemiel, the Old God that had been the archdemon they thought they had slain. She did not understand what had happened or how this could have occurred, but she did not doubt her Spirit. It was always truthful with her. Wynne presumed Morrigan's son was the Warden's, given his age, but her work had kept her so busy that she had not seen the Warden since shortly after the archdemon encounter, so she did not know this to be fact.

"Your Spirit of Faith bade me come here to see you immediately. She told me of the Old God and his plan to possess my child, but I know no more. Please, I know you owe me nothing, and I have given you no reason to help me, but I implore you now. Do not let Him take my son. Whatever wrongs I have perpetrated upon you, the boy has done nothing…" and Morrigan could not finish, her words choking in her throat.

Wynne was both surprised and moved at this unexpected breakdown by one of the strongest women she had ever met…and the least emotional. Who was **this** Morrigan? She squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Have you told the Warden of the danger to the boy?" she asked, unaware that Morrigan had not even told the Warden he had a son.

Morrigan gasped. How could she know? Of course, she had deduced it. She knew of their affair and the boy's age. "I…he does not know about the child at all," she said bowing her head, knowing the time for lies and subterfuge was long since past. She could not protect herself at the expense of her son's life.

Wynne was taken aback, "Why didn't you tell him? I know you loved him. For that matter, why did you leave him?" she asked, immediately regretting her inappropriate intrusiveness.

Morrigan's temper flared. "You, of all people, should understand why I did not tell him. I am an apostate. He is a Grey Warden, a champion of Ferelden. How could he be with me? And his child is an apostate as well. Would you have him killed defending his right to raise his own child? You know the Warden. He would not let them take his son," she snapped.

Wynne lowered her head, acknowledging the truth of Morrigan's argument, and feeling an unexpected sympathy for her obvious suffering. Wynne was a mage of the Circle of Magi. She believed in what the Circle stood for, if not always how their ends were accomplished, and she sympathized with what must be the terrible life of an apostate – the fear, the danger. She could understand wanting to protect the child from that, even at the expense of never knowing his father.

"I am sorry for being judgmental. I can only imagine how difficult this must have been for you. But you should know that things have changed in Ferelden for all mages. The Warden has the ear of the Queen and together they are initiating policies that offer more freedom to all mages. Children are no longer forced to leave their families, but are guided and assisted to learn how to control their abilities and use their magic for good. Soon, it will no longer be an offense to live outside of Circle influence; there will have to be a crime committed using magic to warrant arrest. The word apostate will no longer be used in Ferelden. These things take time, but they give us hope. I must admit, I have changed my thinking as well. I believe now we can be more progressive in our approach, as the Empress of Orlais has shown us. But you must know this, as you are clearly in her Court now. Have you been in Orlais the whole time?" Wynne said.

Morrigan nodded numbly.

"Surely, my dear, you could reconsider coming back now. Soon, you could be with your Warden safely," she offered gently.

"No," Morrigan whispered, thinking of his anger the last time they had spoken, "it is too late for me and Ryder. He no longer cares for me. But when Brycan is safe, I will tell the Warden of his son. But you must help me now, I…do not know where else to turn," she beseeched anxiously.

Wynne nodded, revealing what she knew, "The Spirit told me that the essence of the Old God is dormant in the child, but it still resides partially in the Fade. That is how she can hear His calls. The Old God has not yet Manifested, for His power is not yet fully realized, and there must be a catalyst. Has the child shown signs of magical ability?"

"Yes," Morrigan nodded, worried. "Small things, but unmistakable."

"This is why the Ancient One is waking. He senses the time drawing near. Perhaps He waits for a spell to be cast. But someone must have initiated this. Who could have done this? How could it happen?" Wynne asked, perplexed.

Morrigan knew. She had spent the entire trip from Orlais poring over it in her mind. It was Flemeth. It had to be. It had been her original goal to have Morrigan mother the Old God. Morrigan had not performed the ritual, but it was in her mother's nature to have an alternate plan in place to insure the success of her scheme. "Flemeth," she finally said bitterly.

Wynne's face fell. "It cannot be, we killed her," she said in disbelief.

"No," Morrigan assured her, "as I told the Warden, 'twas only temporary, a question of when she would return, not if. Her power is great and she has many tricks. She is not so easy to kill, but there is a way, I know it. I have been searching her notes and the Grimoires, and the library at Orlais. I think I may be close."

Wynne suddenly felt very old and weary, and sunk into a chair, sighing, "Flemeth! This changes things. It will be more difficult now. But how? When?"

Morrigan flushed with shame, and lowered her head, "'Twas…'twas something **I** was supposed to do."

Wynne's eyes flew open, "You? What do you mean?"

"'Twas Flemeth's desire from the moment she knew of the Blight. She put me on the path to seduce the Warden that I might conceive his child and the Old God could possess it," she admitted, her words heavily laden with regret.

Wynne could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

Morrigan continued, driven by her need to purge her guilt, if only by owning it, "There were many things I was willing to do for my mother then. But as I came to care for the Warden, I no longer desired such things. The power Flemeth had promised me if I raised the God was no longer important. You have no reason to believe me, but it is so. While I was willing to tolerate its presence to save the Warden's life, he would not let me, and I did not perform the ritual. But if Flemeth recovered more quickly than I anticipated, she might have found another way, knowing that I shared the Warden's bed for a time. I did not know of this, and I was unaware I carried his child until several weeks after I had left the Warden."

Wynne sat in stunned silence. What was there to say? What this girl had done! What she had been through! It was too staggering to conceive. Morrigan was right to be so distressed.

"I will help you, Morrigan. There must be something in the library of the Circle, some rite of exorcism that we can perform. I will search for it immediately, and when I have the appropriate rites, I will bring them to Orlais, and we will destroy this Old God forever. Take heart, child," she said.

Morrigan turned to her then. "I have been unkind and disrespectful to you and I regret this. Much of what you have said of me is true, but believe me now. I am grateful beyond reckoning. Brycan is everything to me. I will not forget this," she said emotionally.

And Wynne knew then she had made the right decision. Morrigan was no longer the selfish, deceitful woman she remembered. She was clearly filled with remorse. Wynne knew she must find a way to exorcise the Old God from the boy.

-----

When Morrigan left, she was encouraged. Hopeful. She held the child in her arms and soothed him. "All will be well, Brycan, you will see. I will not let Him have you," she murmured.

A fleeting expression passed over the child's face. One of anger.


	17. Chapter 17

17.

"To Kill A Mocking Bird"

Morrigan was arrested the moment her horses pulled through the gates of the palace at Val Royeaux. She was pulled roughly from the carriage by two motley Chevaliers.

"We have you now, witch!" one of them snarled in her ear.

"Milord, milord! We have her! The witch Morrigan! She has returned!" another cried towards the castle.

Morrigan was stunned. She grabbed Brycan protectively, but he was quickly torn from her grasp.

"What is the meaning of this?!?" she cried, bewildered, struggling to free herself from the brutish louts.

"You're charged with the murder of Baron de Winter, maleficar. We know you hated him, and you used your blood magic to slay him!" shouted a third Chevalier.

Morrigan's eyes widened. What were they talking about? She had been gone five days and she knew nothing of this, yet they blamed her for it. And were calling her a maleficar! Morrigan had engaged in more than one public "debate" with Baron de Winter, and it was a well-known fact they were enemies. She would not mourn his loss, but she did not kill him.

At that moment, Knight-Commander Acharne came strutting down the stairs of the palace and confronted her.

"Give me back my son, you bastard!" Morrigan shouted defiantly, her arms pinned behind her back.

Acharne struck her hard with the back of his hand, drawing blood. A sinister, victorious smile spread over his lips, "Your son no longer belongs to you. He is forfeit. As a maleficar, you have no rights. As a maleficar guilty of murder, you will burn at the stake, witch!"

Morrigan paled.

Celene had come running out of the palace as soon as she had seen what was happening. "Acharne! She has not been proven guilty yet! Do not strike her again!" she ordered furiously.

She turned to Morrigan, anguished. "I am so sorry, my friend, I cannot stop this. I know you did not do this horrible deed, but they have strong evidence, and I am powerless to stop the process. I am doing all that I can to investigate and prove your innocence, but it will take time, and until then, I do not have the authority…"

"No, you do not, Empress," Acharne interrupted her coldly. "Maleficars and their crimes are the province of the Chevaliers and Templars, yes? As Knight-Commander of Val Royeaux, it is my responsibility and my duty to see justice done. Take her to the Chateau d'Isolement until judgment is passed by the Chantry Court, at which time she will be burned at the stake like the murdering maleficar she is," he declared viciously.

Acharne's excitement was palpable, and it sickened Celene to see him derive such joy from her friend's dire circumstance. She knew they were rivals, and in fact, disliked each other intensely, but she could not imagine that the man would be so cruel as to pull a child from its mother and taunt her with barbaric death threats. He was detestable and she would see him removed from his position if it was the last thing she did.

Acharne smirked, "Take the child to the Tower. He is young. Perhaps the maleficar can yet be beaten out of him. But there will be many tests first." He smiled maliciously at a horrified Morrigan.

The Empress drew herself up now, and grabbed the child from the Chevalier holding him. "You will do no such thing! The child is innocent. He has been charged with no crime, and you have no right to take him! Torturing innocent children is **not** your province and I shall never let it be so in my country. Do not test me, Acharne," she said threateningly, "I am still Empress of Orlais. **I** will take the child until Morrigan is cleared of these outrageous charges. And should any further harm come to her while she is in your custody, you will all answer to me! Mark my words. You do not want me for an enemy."

Morrigan looked at her friend gratefully, "My thanks," she whispered, knowing that at least her son would not be harmed by these savages.

Acharne glared at Celene as impudently as he dared, before turning on his heel. "To d'Isolement with her," he growled, as they dragged Morrigan off.

"Take heart, my friend," the Empress called after Morrigan, "I will find a way to help you!"

-----

Chateau d'Isolement was a foreboding stone structure in the harbor of Val Royeaux. It was built as an impenetrable fortress in the 7th Age and had been converted to a prison for the most despised and feared prisoners in all Orlais. It was considered inescapable, and, in fact, all attempts had met with failure. Surrounded by the icy waters of the Waking Sea on all sides, brutal currents threatened to drown any who were fortunate enough to clear the walls. The cells were spaced far apart and the walls thick. This prison was intended to isolate and demoralize – to break the spirit, to punish beyond the limits of endurance. Captives were allowed no visitors and none of the guards were allowed to speak to them, unless absolutely necessary. This was a place meant to incite madness. Most who arrived never left, their bodies thrown over the walls and carried out to sea by the treacherous currents. Those who did were escorted directly to their deaths on the gallows, or rarely, at the stake.

Morrigan was rowed out to d'Isolement the day of her arrest. The sight of the place filled her with dread, as it was intended to do. She was shackled heavily, both to humiliate her, and to prevent her from using her magic to escape. She had wondered how they intended to keep a powerful mage such as her imprisoned, but when she was thrust roughly into her cell, she discovered the answer. They were on constant rotation guarding her. Anti-Magic Wards and Glyphs of Neutralization kept her from using her powers. There was no escaping, she thought. She was not even sure that she should try. They had her son. And she was innocent. Morrigan tried to be patient...a virtue she did not possess naturally. She must trust the Empress. Celene was her only hope…and her son's only hope. She had to get out before the Old God manifested. She had to.

-----

Celene was worried that they had chosen to take Morrigan to d'Isolement even before her conviction. Everything about this seemed wrong. The Chevaliers were pushing hard to end this quickly, and horribly. She had her own lawyers working on any challenges she might make as Empress, and had sent her best spies into the city to find out what they could about the crime. Clearly, there was blood magic involved, which limited the suspects. It was a mage, and a maleficar.

Her best hope was her former lover, the mage Roget. He was three years older than Celene and she had been hopelessly in love with him when she was younger, though she had never admitted it to him. When she had become Empress they had worked closely together for a time, as she had tried to improve the lot of mages in Orlais, especially those not within the Circle influence. He was not a member of the Circle, preferring his freedom to the collar of the Chantry, but he was a good man, not a maleficar.

Paul Roget was dashing and unconventional. He did not fawn over her as the others at Court did to make their impressions and achieve their goals. He had no interest in the Court intrigues, and refused to play the games that were a part of life in Val Royeaux. This impressed Celene far above the others' more obvious tactics. And, he had the audacity to look her in the eye as though they were lovers. This shocked her, and she knew she should have been indignant, but there was something brash and fearless in his gaze that, in truth, she found exciting. After a time, she decided to call his bluff, and they began a tempestuous affair.

It was only her position as Empress and his as a non-Circle mage that had ultimately separated them. In the climate of the time, their relationship seemed impossible. There were expectations of her and pressures from the Chantry. The Court intrigues of Val Royeaux killed their affair, but not their passion for each other. In truth, Celene had often thought she might still be with him if she were not Empress. Roget had been gracious and understanding, and they had parted friends. She had sought out his help before in delicate situations and he had not failed her.

When Morrigan had come to Orlais, she had become friends with Roget. While Celene had wanted Morrigan to feel welcome and make friends, she had found herself growing jealous, and she was ashamed.

Roget had noted Celene's discomfort with amusement, but he had made no effort to allay her doubts. He knew he could not be with her anymore, but he rather liked the idea that she was upset by the thought of him with someone else. He would never intentionally hurt Celene, and never flaunted the women he saw socially in front of her, but he took a small measure of satisfaction in the thought that she still cared, if only enough to be mildly jealous of his women friends. While he had no romantic interest in Morrigan, and she was clearly tortured by the memory of someone else, they were alike in several ways, both mages living outside the expectations of the rest of the world. He appreciated her courage, non-conformity, and complete indifference to the opinion of others. They had been drawn to each other as much by the fact that they were both outsiders with no desire to look in. It was a natural alliance, but not a tightly-knit one. Morrigan kept mostly to herself, and her child, after he was born. Besides Roget, her only real friend in Val Royeaux was Celene.

When Morrigan was arrested, he had gone to Celene in secret one night and had offered to infiltrate a suspected ring of maleficars operating within the Mages' Collective of Val Royeaux in hopes of finding information on the real perpetrator. Celene was afraid for Roget. She was torn between her loyalty to her friend, Morrigan, and her suppressed feelings for him. She did not wish to lose either of them.

"Is there not someone else who can go?" she asked plaintively.

His face broke into that adventurous, devil-may-care smile that she remembered so fondly, "You know I am the one who must go. I am a mage outside the Circle with a dubious reputation. This will permit me some latitude to wander freely. I will be alright, do not fear for me. Morrigan is our friend, no? We must help her. If Morrigan did not commit this crime then it is likely someone in this group either did or knows something that will help to exonerate her. I will find out and return to you, my Empress. I am, as always, your loyal servant." He bowed deeply, an amused look on his face.

He had always loved to tease her, but Celene had a bad feeling about this, and was in no mood for his impudence. It was dangerous and there was every chance he would not live to see her again. To enter a den of suspected maleficars…she shuddered to think of the consequences if they should discover his purpose. "Paul, do not joke with me now, this is serious. The danger is too great. No, there must be another way, I cannot allow it," she said with authority.

Roget's smile faded and he looked at her intensely, not as a loyal servant, but as a man, and she felt a shiver run through her, as she always did when he looked at her so boldly. He spoke carefully, "It is my duty as a subject of your Empire to obey you in this, but you know I must still pursue this course of action. If Morrigan is convicted, mages throughout Orlais will be reviled and worse. All your progress, all your reforms will be lost to fear and suspicion and ignorance. And…" He hesitated. "We can never be together," he finished haltingly, studying her for a reaction.

His last words caught her off guard and tears filled her eyes. She turned away quickly, in an attempt to regain her composure, but it was too late.

Roget had seen her response and come up behind her, grasping her shoulders. He spoke fervently into her ear, "Celene, you must know that I love you, that I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, these seven years past. If you tell me as my Empress that you cannot be with me, I will accept your judgment, but if you tell me as a woman that you do not care for me, that you do not wish to be with me, I will not believe you. Tell me you do not feel the same."

Celene could not. Her string of lovers had earned her a reputation, but she had not cared. For her there was only Paul, and she searched for him in every man she was with, never finding another like him, always doomed to disappointment. Though her heart was full, she said nothing.

"Celene," he said passionately, his lips grazing her ear. "Do not let me leave without knowing how you feel," he begged her.

She whispered with her back still to him, "What difference does it make how I feel? We cannot be together."

"It makes a difference to me," he said, emotionally. "Things are changing in Orlais, you know this. **You** have done this, Celene. You have brought about real change in our country. You cannot imagine how proud you have made me. Soon, there will be no stigma attached to being a mage. If we let this happen to Morrigan, we will lose all that you have fought for, all that you have built."

"I have no desire to let this happen, either," she said, head lowered.

"Then tell me before I go. Should I be unable to return to you, tell me that which I must hear from your lips," he entreated.

She looked into his eyes, unable to withhold the truth from him any longer, and fearing he might not live to hear it later, she whispered, "I love you. I loved you when we parted. I have never stopped loving you. If things were different…"

"But they are different, because of you," he returned, "And soon, they will be different enough that we can be together again, without political ramification."

She wanted to believe him. She had prayed for such an outcome. Celene gazed at him hopefully. Then she put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. "Paul Roget, if you do not return to me, I will find you and bring you back, if I have to go into the Fade itself," she vowed, whispering in his ear.

He smiled his most daring, swashbuckling smile and promised her, "Nothing will stay me from your side ever again, my Empress." And he kissed her.

-----

As she watched him walk away, she feared Paul's efforts might not be enough to save her friend. If he failed…no, she dare not think about that. But Celene was no fool. She had ruled the most powerful country in Thedas successfully for years because she was smart and she was always prepared for any eventuality. Her contingency plan for Morrigan's predicament was one Ryder Cousland, Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden, and the man Morrigan loved. Celene hoped he still loved her, for she knew she needed serious outside help.


	18. Chapter 18

18.

"Captive Audience"

Celene sent for the Warden, knowing it might destroy her friendship with Morrigan if it was not what she truly desired. Up until now she had respected Morrigan's wishes regarding the Warden, but the situation had forced her hand. Morrigan's pride would not allow her to send for him herself, Celene thought, shaking her head. It seemed Morrigan was more afraid of rejection than of her own death – so fearless in battle and so terrified of her own emotions. What an enigma her friend was!

She had not told Morrigan that she had summoned him. The last thing Celene wanted to do was break her heart or humiliate her if the Warden did not or could not come, and she thought if Morrigan knew, it would only upset her.

But she had known the sorceress for several years now and believed that her love for the Warden could never be put aside. Celene smiled, thinking that her perceptions were so colored by her own rekindled feelings for Roget that she could hardly be objective anymore. She only knew she could not stand to see her friend suffer so, and having met the Warden, Celene felt sure she could reunite them. And if she could not clear Morrigan of these terrible charges, Celene could at least give her back her Warden before…she shuddered at the thought. She only hoped the Warden's feelings had not changed and that she reached him in time. Celene did not know how long she could stall the proceedings, but would do everything in her power to delay the trial. She had begun her own investigations of the murder with her best people and, of course, Paul. She prayed again that he would be alright.

-----

When the Warden returned to Denerim after several weeks of fighting darkspawn in the Southron Hills near Ostagar, he entered the castle and greeted Teagan warmly. Anora and Teagan had finally stopped dancing around each other, and admitted their feelings a year ago. It had made the Warden happy to see them wed. He had allowed himself to live vicariously through the ceremony and it pleased him no end when Anora had revealed to him she was with child last month. He thought of Eamon's plot with disgust. So Cailan was sterile, not Anora. There would never have been a continuation of the Theirin bloodline had Cailan married the Empress.

The Queen entered the room and welcomed him with an embrace. Then she went to her husband's side and sliding her arm around his waist familiarly, kissed him affectionately on the cheek. She had long since stopped being formal around her friend, the Warden. Anora was radiant. He could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy for their situation – blissfully married with a child on the way. He had wished for so much for himself…for Morrigan. He put her out of his mind.

Anora informed him he had an urgent missive waiting for him from the Empress of Orlais. The Queen had been afraid to send it out by messenger, knowing he was on the move and that it might take longer to reach him that way, so she had held it for him. It stunned him to think Celene would contact him directly, outside of diplomatic channels, and that it was marked urgent. He could not imagine what she might need from him. The letter had not been sent to either of the Grey Warden strongholds, so he doubted she needed him in his capacity as a Warden. It had apparently arrived two weeks prior and the fact that he was just now receiving it made him uneasy. He tore it open and as he read it, his eyes widened, and he fell back into a chair, jarred by the note's contents:

_Warden,_

_Forgive my informality in sending a note to you in this manner, but it involves a matter of utmost importance. I beg you to come to Val Royeaux immediately. Morrigan is in grave danger. She is accused of a horrible crime she did not commit and has been imprisoned. I need your help to clear her. I am powerless to stop these proceedings, as there is strong evidence against her, and the laws of Orlais place this matter in the hands of the Chevaliers and the Chantry. I do not understand what has happened, but I am convinced there is something wrong here, and that Morrigan is innocent. I know it is not my place to ask you to come here, but I discovered your history with Morrigan quite by accident, and knowing your reputation in Ferelden, I had hoped that I could prevail upon you to assist me. But you must come as a man, not as a Grey Warden or a representative of Ferelden. This could lead to untold difficulties for our two countries. You understand, no? If you decide to come, give this letter to Henri, my Captain of the Imperial Guard. He will see to it that you are brought to me discreetly._

_I have told Morrigan nothing of my plans to summon you, as I did not wish to disappoint her should you decide not to come. Please understand that time is of the essence. If I cannot find a way to stop this, Morrigan will be brutally executed, and soon. I cannot postpone the outcome much longer. I know that time can change things, but if you still care for her as you did five years ago when I met you, you must come to Orlais. She needs you. Please, Warden, I beseech you. If you still love her, help me._

_Sincerely,_  
_Celene I_  
_Empress of Orlais_

Morrigan in Orlais? He thought in confusion. The Warden thought back to when he had last seen her near South Reach when they had both been searching for the ring. She had worn a fine cloak and beautiful clothes that were unlike what he had become accustomed to her wearing. Orlais! And apparently in Val Royeaux, at the Court of the Empress Celene herself! It had never occurred to him to search for Morrigan in the most populous city in all Thedas. She was a child of the Wilds, a free spirit of nature, running with the wolves of the wood. How is it she ended up there?

He re-read the note and swallowed hard when he saw the word "executed". The Warden had been unable to absorb it all at first, but seeing that word sickened him, and he wasted no more time. He made ready to fly to Val Royeaux.

-----

Celene was overjoyed the Warden had come. She had seen it in his eyes that night on the balcony when he had refused her advances. He was as caught up in Morrigan as she was in him. She was pleased that he had come in disguise, as well. He wore a hooded cloak with the excellent lightweight armor Shadow of the Empire underneath which made for fast, anonymous traveling. No one would know this was a Grey Warden, much less the famous hero of Ferelden. He looked quite the rogue. And if things got out of hand, his armor bore the royal seal, having been made for the Orlesian throne's personal assassins the Shadows of the Emperor. It should allow him to pass as an Orlesian on important, and possibly deadly, business. He had brought his mabari for good measure. More than likely, the intimidating gear and the warhound's presence would insulate him from unwanted contact.

She told him everything that had happened, leaving out only the existence of his child. Celene knew she had overstepped her bounds by bringing the Warden here, but she felt strongly that it was Morrigan's place to tell him of Brycan. If, Maker forbid, she did not tell him, and this travesty could not be stopped, then Celene would tell him herself when it was over. But she believed Morrigan wanted to tell him, and would, given the chance.

The Warden was distraught beyond words at the circumstance. The trial had been underway for over a week and things were not going well. Celene had someone she trusted investigating the blood mage connection, but she had heard nothing from him, and he saw the fear in her eyes that something terrible might have befallen him. Her other spies had turned up nothing so far. She had done well to delay things this long, but the trial was moving forward in spite of her protests for more investigation.

She promised to make arrangements for the Warden to see Morrigan, but it was extremely dangerous and difficult. Celene's position as Empress put her in a terrible predicament. The political ramifications of going against the Chevaliers and Chantry in a matter like this could lead to civil war. They could not be discovered under any circumstances.

Morrigan was guarded constantly, and while Celene's position as Empress had allowed her special access, no one else was permitted to see her. Celene had planned that he would accompany her on one of her visits to the island prison as a trusted Imperial Guard. When Celene had ordered the existing guards away, they would be given a brief time alone. It was all she could do. For all her power, this was not something in her purview, as that bastard Acharne enjoyed pointing out to her. At least Morrigan and her Warden would see each other again.

There was no time to waste. They did not know how much time Morrigan had left. Celene smuggled the Warden into the prison that night with her Captain of the Guard. It was a cool, damp night and they wore hooded cloaks over their armor, which made it all the easier for the Warden to remain hidden. The Empress approached Morrigan's cell, motioning for the Warden to stay back.

"I am here to see the prisoner, as usual," she announced regally.

"Yes, Your Highness," the one of the two guards said, unlocking the cell, and sitting back down at his station. Celene took a deep breath and continued with all her authority, "Tonight, I will require some privacy with the prisoner. I have a personal matter to discuss and you will need to leave us alone for one hour."

The guards looked at each other. "Your Majesty, we are forbidden to leave this door. We are not even allowed to go to the privy until we are relieved of duty," one of the guards said nervously.

The Empress drew herself up and said, "And what is it you think I will do if you leave us in peace for a short time? Do you suspect **me** of orchestrating an escape? I am Empress of Orlais! You dare accuse me of such treachery?!!?" She continued her intimidation tactics, "On whose authority would you disobey your Empress? I would like to know who will end up on the gallows with you for treason. Would you care to reconsider your answer?"

The guards gulped and one of them said, "Yes, Empress, that will be fine, we meant no disrespect, I assure you. We'll be back in an hour. Thank you, Your Highness." And they scurried off.

When they had left, she entered the cell alone. Morrigan was puzzled but made no move toward the door. Celene was concerned. Her friend looked tired and drawn. Morrigan seemed to be giving up hope. "What news, my Empress? Is it over, at last? Or do we play the game another day?" she joked weakly. She had not been eating or sleeping well. The dreams had intensified, and she was more fearful of the Old God every day. "How fares Brycan? Is he well? I miss him so," she said, trying to smile.

Celene looked back to the cell door nervously, wondering if the Warden had heard Morrigan's last question.

The Warden **had **heard, for he ached to enter the cell, and was just outside the door. Brycan? Was she seeing someone else now? Why had Celene not told him? He felt the flare of jealousy tear through him.

Celene leaned in to embrace her friend and whispered, "He is fine. I have brought someone to see you, but I only dare give you an hour. Tell him everything, my friend. Pray, make the best use of your time." She smiled encouragingly at Morrigan who now scowled in confusion.

Then Celene turned and left the cell, motioning to the Warden to enter.

The Warden found his legs were leaden. Fear and anxiety had crept in, and he found himself rooted in place.

Celene saw his uncertainty and stepped up to him. In a low voice that only he could hear, she said smiling, "Do not be afraid, Warden, she still loves you to distraction."

That was all he needed. He walked into the cell.

Morrigan stared at him, her brow furrowed, not recognizing him with his hood in place, and certainly not expecting him.

The Warden could not speak for the lump in his throat. She looked drained, weakened. Maker, he had to get her out of here.

Morrigan was confused that this man had gone through obvious great pains to see her, but had yet to speak, much less reveal himself. "Forgive me, do I know you? What is it you want?" she finally asked, too tired to be irritated.

The sound of her voice broke the spell, and he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. "You, Morrigan," he whispered, unable to keep the emotion from his voice.

His voice. The voice that she knew so well. No, it was not possible. She was weak from lack of food and sleep. She heard what she wanted to hear. Recovering her wits, she pushed the man away and as she did so, his hood slid off and she stood face to face with her Warden.

Morrigan gasped, recoiling in shock. She shook her head. How could this be? How could he be here? He did not know she was in Orlais, much less Chateau d'Isolement. He…hated her. Why would he be here? She could not comprehend it. She staggered backwards, feeling her knees give way.

His arm encircled her waist and he pulled her to him. "Forgive me, Morrigan, I should never have let you go. I was a fool. I don't understand what happened at South Reach, I wasn't thinking clearly. If Celene hadn't sent for me, I might never have found you again…but I will not let them harm you, I swear it," he vowed, burying his lips in her hair.

Of course! Celene! Everything made sense now. And he was here, holding her in his arms. He still loved her! For a moment, she allowed herself to melt into him, forgetting everything that had happened, everything that was going to happen. Then, Morrigan thought of her son…**their** son, and disengaged herself from his embrace. She had to tell him now. There might not be another chance. "There is something I must tell you, and it must be now," she said seriously.

The Warden frowned, moving back towards her.

"No, 'tis important. I have been trying to find a way to tell you. Now, there is no time to do it correctly," she said sadly.

The Warden stopped, puzzled.

Morrigan took a deep breath. "I…You have a son," she said, blurting out what she had intended to break gently.

The Warden was stunned. He backed away, reeling, shaking his head.

She thought her heart would break to see him hurt so. Morrigan tried to explain everything - why she had not told him, that she wished she had, and all that had happened to her. "I am sorry", she finished.

The Warden was numb. He could say nothing. Such was his state of shock.

Morrigan knew she had given him too much to deal with, but she had to continue. She had to save their son, and it had become clear to her that she might not be alive to do it. "Listen to me now, it no longer matters what you think of me, or whether you believe that I am grieved that I hurt you. You must leave here. Now. Tonight. You must take our son and go to Wynne at the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad. He is in danger and she has agreed to help me, but 'tis impossible for me to assist her now. You must go to her. She will save Brycan," she entreated him.

Brycan? Maker, Brycan was not her new lover, it was his son! Of course! She had named the boy after the Warden's father, Bryce! "But…" he stammered, "what about you? This trial? They will kill you, Morrigan!"

She shook her head vehemently, "You cannot help me. It no longer matters what happens to me, 'tis our son that's important. You must save him!"

She sighed, not knowing how to begin, not knowing how to tell him what was happening to the child. So Morrigan started at the beginning - how she had not performed the ritual, but found herself with child from their time together in the Brecilian Forest, and how she suspected that Flemeth had performed a lesser ritual, to achieve the original goal. She told him of returning to Denerim to help him and collapsing after he slew the archdemon. And then, Morrigan told him of her dreams and Wynne's Faith Spirit. The Old God was soon to manifest, she knew it.

It was madness. He could scarcely conceive of it. He had a son? And now he had to choose between the life of his son and the life of the woman he loved? He fell into a chair, shaking his head slowly, trying to absorb it.

Morrigan's heart ached for him. She knew the decision she had placed before him. Her or his son. She fell to her knees in front of him, taking his hands in hers, "Please, I know your anger at me must be great. But he is your **son**. You must save him, he is an innocent. Take him with you, make him safe. He will come to know his father as a great man," the words began to stick in her throat. "Do not think of him as **my** son if 'tis easier. Think of him as yours. You will learn to love him as much as I do. Take him away from here. Do not let them hurt him because he is mine," she implored him.

The Warden didn't know what to say. She was right. He would have to help his child. But how could he leave her to die, no matter how angry he might be? He had to think this through. He nodded numbly, "I will secure the boy."

Tears of joy and gratitude welled in her eyes then, knowing that her son would be safe. For she knew the Warden would take care of him and protect him from harm. And her child would be with his father. "Thank you, thank you," she whispered.

Then she stood, regaining her composure, and turned her back to him, hoping to make the parting easier and encourage him to leave her. "I am grateful. You must go quickly, before they find you here. Goodbye, Ryder. Fare thee well," she said with finality.

His emotions were in turmoil. He didn't want to leave like this. He didn't want to leave her to die, but the boy…The Warden was at a loss for words, "I…" he stammered.

Celene ran into the cell. "The guards are returning, we must go now," she said grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the room. She gave Morrigan a look of encouragement, but Morrigan had not turned around. There was no time to speak with her now.

They departed d'Isolement. The Warden was devastated, Celene was saddened, and Morrigan, thinking she would never see her son or her beloved Warden again, shed tears of grief for herself.


	19. Chapter 19

19.

"Body of Evidence"

Roget was not dead, though Celene had feared he might be. But, in spite of his swagger when he left, she had been right. It had been very dangerous. He had managed to find and infiltrate the group of suspected maleficars, but he felt watched constantly, and he had been unable to see her or get word back to her without jeopardizing them both. When Roget had finally seen an opportunity, he had seized it, for he had urgent news to give to his Empress. He had found a note linking one of the mages of the group to none other than the Knight-Commander of the Chevaliers himself, Acharne. Corrupt hypocritical bastard, he had thought when he first found it. And then it hit him. Acharne hated Morrigan as much, if not more, than de Winter. This was not about solving a murder for which Morrigan was blamed. It was a conspiracy for which she was being set up! Acharne did not hold the Baron in great esteem, thinking him weak and pathetic, unable to lift a sword, much less willing to wield one. Their only common ground was that they both hated and feared mages. It made perfect sense, however bloodcurdling it was. A blood mage murdering the chief opponent of mages in Orlais would be a flashpoint for the mages' freedom issue and would simultaneously eliminate Acharne's most hated rival at Court. Roget had to get this information to Celene.

-----

Everything was going perfectly according to plan, Acharne thought. Soon Morrigan would be convicted, and he would once again be the most powerful man in the land, rooting out the mages from across the country, imprisoning them, executing them. If he had his way, they would all be burned at the stake. There would be none who could oppose him, not even the Empress, for she could not risk civil war by standing against the Chantry and his Chevaliers.

It had been easier than he had thought. He had hired the maleficar on pain of death, and sent him with a note to de Winter in the dead of night:

_Baron,_

_We must meet to discuss how to deal with our mutual "friend", Morrigan. I have vital information and I fear for your life. Let us say midnight tomorrow, at your old carriage house, away from prying eyes. She must not discover our meeting, so come alone, and tell no one. It is vital that you destroy this communique. She must not suspect our alliance._

_Knight-Commander Acharne_

The Baron had been shocked by the note, but he and Acharne were of like mind on Morrigan and they both hated mages, so he had agreed to meet the Knight-Commander in secret. What the Chevalier had not foreseen was that the Baron was a very careful man, and he had thought better of burning the note, at least until after the meeting, choosing to protect himself by hiding it in a false chimney brick in his bedroom. There was always the possibility of blackmail, Orlais' favorite pastime. Baron de Winter was clever, and every bit as treacherous as Acharne.

The Baron had met Acharne as planned. The Chevalier had verified that de Winter had destroyed the note, unaware the Baron was lying to cover himself. Acharne had smiled sinisterly, thinking himself safe, "I am about to make your fondest wish come true."

The Baron had looked at him strangely, not understanding.

From the shadows, the blood mage had emerged, slicing his hand, and beginning to chant his incantations.

"What is the meaning of this?!? You dare bring a maleficar to my home?!?" de Winter had cried.

"You have made it your personal crusade to destroy mages," Acharne answered smiling, "This man is going to help you. For you are about to give up your life to accomplish your goals."

The Baron's eyes widened and he was suddenly unable to move.

Acharne continued his explanation, "Your death at the hands of Morrigan the witch, the maleficar, will be the incendiary that sets this country off. The idea that a noble of the Court who espouses the dangers of magic would be murdered by a maleficar, a trusted advisor to the Empress herself - it will be the catalyst that sets the Empress' mage initiatives back a thousand years. The Empress will be undermined, and Morrigan, who we both despise, will be burned at the stake. You see? It is a no-lose proposition. Of course, you might disagree at this moment, no?"

The Baron was unable to speak. His insides were on fire, his throat closing up. He felt the trickle of blood running from his nose.

"Ah good, you do not disagree. After all, who among us can say we have sacrificed ourselves for our beliefs, eh? You will be revered as the man who helped the great Knight-Commander Acharne of the Orlesian Chevaliers to end the mage threat. Take comfort in knowing that you serve a greater purpose in death than you ever served in life, you sniveling, pompous coward!" the Chevalier sneered, watching coldly as the Baron expired in front of his eyes.

De Winter gurgled blood as his organs liquefied, and within moments he was no more. Acharne's plan had been set into motion.

The blood mage had taken a silver brooch out of his pocket – a distinctive piece with a large sapphire at its center. It was Morrigan's – a cherished gift from the Warden that he had purchased from the Dalish camp. She had worn it often and many had commented on its beauty. She had searched for it before she left for the Circle Tower, but did not report it stolen, assuming it had been misplaced and would turn up. It had turned up…in the hand of the blood mage seeking to incriminate her in a foul murder. He had placed the brooch in the Baron's hand and closed up his fist, implying a struggle had taken place and the Baron had grabbed the piece from the perpetrator.

All that had been left was to place the forged note from Morrigan to the Baron in his home where it would be easily found. Acharne had made it look as though Morrigan had threatened the Baron, warning him to end his anti-mage crusade or she would "resolve matters between them once and for all." The evidence against Morrigan was mounting and she had done nothing, Acharne had thought maliciously.

Now, it seemed a foregone conclusion that Morrigan would burn. The Chevalier smiled wickedly.

-----

Like Morrigan, Paul Roget was a shapeshifter, though his preferred form was a falcon. He flew into Celene's window just before dawn, reverted to human form, and found her sleeping, her long, brown, gently curved tresses lazing seductively over her pillows. Not wanting to disturb her, he sat on the edge of her bed watching her sleep. He caressed a lock of her hair, unable to keep his hands off her, yet unwilling to wake her yet.

Roget had followed her rise to power closely, admiring her courage and strength of character. At seventeen, she had been bold and fearless, cleverly surviving more than one assassination attempt, ending up on the throne of the Empire - not out of greed and power-lust, but out of a desire to help her country, to improve the lot of Orlesians, to end the corruption that threatened to engulf Orlais.

He had been overwhelmed when he first met her three years later…and he was not a man easily impressed. She was confident without being arrogant, aware of her beauty without being vain, strong and smart, yet soft and feminine. There was much to admire about this woman, and he found, in spite of his better judgment, he was wildly attracted to her. But she was his Empress, so he had kept his distance. It was not until that day in the Imperial library that things had changed. They were researching Orlesian laws regarding mages and the Chantry and he had allowed himself to lapse into a gaze of admiration and desire, which he had found himself doing more frequently when he was sure she was not watching.

But Celene was Empress of Orlais, and wise beyond her 20 years. There was little that escaped her notice and she was observant beyond his recognizing. She had looked up suddenly, her eyes smoldering. "If you are going to continue to look at me in this manner, Paul Roget, do you not think that perhaps you should have some experience with it?" she had asked brazenly.

Roget had been stunned at her bold flirtation. But she was his Empress and he did not know what to say, "I…" he stammered.

A radiant but coquettish smile spread across her lips. "Come now, Roget, do not play the innocent with me. Your eyes betray you. How is it that you can look at me the way you do, and do nothing about it?" she asked him, seeming almost disappointed at his lack of action.

"I…it...it is respect, Your Highness. For you, for your title," he fumbled.

Celene smiled impishly. "'Tis not respect I see in your eyes," she said knowingly.

Roget blushed. Perhaps he had not been as discreet as he had thought.

Celene was delighted to have forced such a reaction. She stood and walked over to him. She caressed his face lightly, her thumb tracing his mouth seductively.

"Roget," she murmured, her voice thick with longing, "do not pretend you do not desire me. I have many in my Court who are counterfeit and play false to me. I do not wish or expect this from you."

Roget was surprised by her directness, but charmed and excited by her boldness. He felt he was walking to the edge of a precipice, and if he stepped off, his life would never be the same. He grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "If I kiss you now, my Empress, it will change both our lives forever," he had warned her prophetically, his own speech tinged with emotion.

"Then change them," she whispered passionately, "Change them, Paul." And he had changed them.

-----

It would be light soon, and he would have to be gone before then, so he kissed her lightly and whispered, "Celene, my love, my Empress."

Celene woke, thinking she was still in her dreams, her lover beside her speaking softly, caressing her. Then she realized he was really there, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Paul!" she exclaimed, relief and joy washing over her. She threw her arms about his neck and held him close to her. "Paul, Paul," she sobbed, her voice betraying her anxiety for him.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her, comforting her, "Shhhh…it's alright, I am alright. I am sorry. I could not get word to you any sooner. It was too dangerous. But I have news." And he told her what he had discovered.

Celene was stunned. And furious. Roget thought if Acharne had been there at that moment she would have run him through herself. "But it is not enough to free Morrigan. It is circumstantial, and it does not prove that this mage was the one who killed the Baron, only that Acharne wished to hire him for something," she said, feeling some small hope, but frustrated it was not more.

Roget looked at her and spoke carefully, knowing she would not be pleased at his next words, "I know. That is why I must go back."

Celene gasped. He had barely escaped this time. "No, Paul, please. You were lucky this time, but…why do you have to go back?" she asked him.

He sighed, "Because knowing how it must have been done is not enough. We have the connection implicating Acharne in the plot, but it is just a note, and not damning enough to convict him. We need the mage. We need a confession. And I intend to get it, one way or another."

"Paul…" Celene began, her fear rising.

He cut her off, "You must have your people re-examine the murder scenes and the evidence we have in a new light. Anything that would connect Acharne to this, to the Baron. Then we shall have enough to free Morrigan and end this. This will be over soon, and I will return to you. Be of good cheer. We are close. I must go, my love, daylight approaches."

He kissed her deeply before she could object again, and raised his arms. In a flash, a magnificent Peregrine falcon appeared and soared out the window into the early morning light.

Celene sighed, "Be safe, my Roget."

-----

Celene led the Warden to the room where his son was playing. Ryder watched him for a time undiscovered. The boy seemed so carefree, so childlike…it was hard to imagine that a powerful entity threatened him from within. The Warden felt a lump in his throat. His son. His son with Morrigan. Maker's Breath! Whatever else he felt from this sudden revelation, and his emotions were many where Morrigan was concerned, he could not help but feel great joy and pride as he watched his son running around the room, as normally as any child his age. After the initial shock from Morrigan's confession had worn off, the Warden had come to one inescapable conclusion. He wanted them all to be together. He believed Morrigan still loved him and genuinely regretted everything that had gone wrong between them. And, Maker help him, he thought, shaking his head, he still loved her, in spite of all of it. It seemed he could forgive Morrigan almost anything. He had wanted to ease her mind, to tell her his feelings, but they had not been allowed to visit her after the night she told him of his son. Security had tightened. Acharne was clearly trying to prevent any more unexpected developments from interfering with his plan, and isolating Morrigan was key.

"Would you like to meet him now?" Celene asked gently, interrupting his reverie.

The Warden nodded, his heart pounding. They entered the room and when Brycan saw Celene, he ran into her arms. She had treated the boy as a beloved nephew, and he loved her almost as much as his mother. Celene smiled sheepishly at the Warden, feeling awkward.

"Brycan, this man is your father. He…had to be away for awhile, but he is going to help take care of you now," she said soothingly.

The boy hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to do.

"It's alright. Say hello to him," the Empress encouraged the child.

Brycan thought for a moment, gauging the stranger in front of him with his 4-year old perceptions, before boldly thrusting out his tiny hand in acceptance.

The Warden was charmed beyond words at this gesture and eagerly grasped his son's hand offering a heartfelt, "I am most pleased and honored to meet you, young man."

The boy smiled genuinely, not because he understood the man's awkward greeting, but because he recognized the warmth and depth of feeling behind it.

It had only taken a few minutes for Ryder to fall in love with his son. The boy was bright and inquisitive and looked like the Warden had at his age. He also had the same mischievous air that Ryder possessed as a child. The Warden laughed to himself, thinking he would have to keep an eye on this one. He was likely to be a handful, just as Ryder had been to his parents. How did that old adage go? 'What goes forth, returns forthwith'? He shook his head, smiling in full recollection of his own childhood antics, and thinking he deserved all the headaches his son could give him. But that was if he could be freed, if the Old God could be extracted safely.

The Warden had no desire to make matters worse, and he knew he must proceed with a delicate hand, but he thought he needed to evaluate the situation that Morrigan had described. Ryder studied the boy while he occupied himself with his toys. Finally, he took a deep breath and pressed forward, "Brycan, your mother tells me you have several friends in Val Royeaux."

The boy nodded, not looking up.

"Are they all from Orlais? Do they all live in the city?" Ryder asked casually.

"No, one of them lives…with me," he said innocently.

"You mean in the palace with you?" Ryder asked.

"No, just **with** me," he said, concentrating on his toy.

The Warden felt a cold chill run through him. "Tell me about him, what's his name?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about him. He doesn't like it when I talk to people about him. He's my friend and we play secret games," Brycan said.

"Secrets can be fun. I had some secret friends when I was your age. What kind of secrets does your friend tell you? Does he ask you to do things? What kinds of games do you play?" the Warden persisted.

"Sometimes, we play a pretend game where he gets to be me and he can listen to things and see things. He tells me what funny tricks he played while I was asleep…" Brycan stopped suddenly and frowned. Then, he said plaintively, his bottom lip trembling, "I…I didn't say anything. I was just telling him about our game. Don't be mad. I'm sorry. I…I won't do it again, I promise."

The Warden frowned now, noting the boy was not directing his last words at him.

Brycan turned to the Warden, tears in his golden eyes, and wailed, "Now he's mad at me. He's so mean when he's mad. Why did you make me talk about him?"

The Warden's jaw had dropped. Suddenly all Morrigan's fear and anguish made sense to him. The boy was in grave danger. This…Being was terrorizing him, controlling him. It seemed to be practicing its possession of him, monitoring its surroundings. And Ryder was sick. "It's alright, Brycan. I'm sorry, I won't ask you about him anymore," the Warden said gathering the child into his arms, trying to comfort his son.

When the boy had settled down, he began to play again, in that charming way children can forget their fears when some other distraction beckons them. But the Warden was visibly shaken, and stood to leave and consider what he had witnessed.

"Do not presume to test me," Brycan said in a low, ominous tone when the Warden's back was to him.

The Warden whirled around in dismay, and for the briefest moment, caught his son glaring malevolently at him before the boy's faced relaxed into childlike innocence and he turned back to his play.

Ryder looked at Celene, who had gone pale, her eyes wide in disbelief, and knew they had both perceived the same thing. By the Maker, Wynne had to help him!

-----

Roget's findings were eye-opening, but the Warden agreed they would need more. He had accompanied the Imperial investigators to Baron de Winter's home to search for further corroboration of Acharne's involvement in the case, and they had found a false brick in his fireplace that held documents the Baron wished to keep secret. Most of these were lurid confessions and letters the Baron obviously intended to use for blackmail purposes, but they had also found a document requesting that the Baron meet Acharne at the carriage house where he was found murdered. This was damning evidence indeed, but when it was presented in court, Acharne had offered an explanation that seemed to satisfy the Chantry magistrates who appeared more than willing to believe him over Morrigan. He claimed he had met with the Baron to offer ways to help him deal with Morrigan's constant threats. Acharne said the Baron had been afraid of her and had sought his advice. He implied Morrigan had learned of their meeting and killed the Baron before Acharne could make good on his promise to help de Winter. Damn him!

Celene had heard nothing from Roget since he had brought her the initial note linking Acharne to the crime. He felt for the Empress. She suffered greatly knowing her friend was imprisoned, awaiting possible execution, and her lover had disappeared into a cabal of maleficars who would do unspeakable things to him if they knew what he was doing. He could tell she was not sleeping.

As the trial wound down, it had become apparent to the Warden that without the blood mage, Morrigan would be convicted and executed. He felt helpless to stop the events, so he had come up with a plan, in case they were unable to prove Morrigan's innocence in time. He could not abandon her. No matter the trial's verdict, he would save his beloved from the stake. He would fight to his last breath to prevent her from burning.


	20. Chapter 20

20.

"Burning Love"

As soon as he had arrived in Orlais, the Warden had sent for the only two allies he had that were available, trustworthy, and might be willing and able to help him in this: Oghren and Zevran. He knew Zevran would be discreet and melt into the background of Val Royeaux perfectly like the rogue he was, but Oghren…well, Oghren not so much. But Sten was back in his homeland, the stone golem Shale was too conspicuous, and Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana all had ties to the Chantry which would have made their involvement far too complicated. And, of course, two of the three had no real desire to help Morrigan. Leliana would have been ideal as an ally here in spite of her Chantry connections, but he could hardly ask her to help him save Morrigan, knowing how the Orlesian girl felt about him. He had never encouraged her feelings, but he had valued her as a friend, and certainly as an ally, being a superior markswoman with the longbow. But Leliana was not content to leave it at friendship, choosing to see every kindness he offered as a sign, even though he had made his feelings for Morrigan clear to her. Every gift he gave his allies to improve morale and boost their spirits she had seen as a personal gesture. Ultimately, he had had to distance himself from her to spare her any more pain. And he was saddened by it.

Thus, the Warden had to go with the two he had. After all, he only needed them to provide distractions for his plan to work. Even three-quarters drunk, and he probably would be, Oghren could handle this task, and he had proven his loyalty to Ryder many times over. The Warden would take the lion's share of the risk, and Zevran and Oghren would disappear into the confusion of the crowd and disperse back to Ferelden to avoid detection. He could not let his country be drawn into this mess, so it was critical that they escape.

The Warden had hoped he would not need his friends in this and that they would be able to prove Morrigan's innocence legally, but he had not been willing to risk it, and had thought it wiser to have them at the ready. Now the situation was growing more desperate every day, and he could no longer deny that they had to be prepared to move immediately.

He had spent every waking moment pondering ways to free Morrigan and the potential ramifications of his actions. He had even considered conscripting her into the Grey Wardens, though, of course, he would never risk sacrificing her life to the Joining, much less sentence her to the shortened lifespan he faced. But his conscience would not allow him to attempt to free such a high profile prisoner in this manner. The eyes of a nation were on this trial, for it meant far more than the surface murder charges would indicate. It was not like it had been with Sten. There would be grave political consequences for the entire country of Orlais if he whisked her away by his Right of Conscription, and it would drag the Grey Wardens and Ferelden into the fray, which Celene had begged him in her note not to do. She was right, it could be disastrous. As much as he loved Morrigan, this was about **them** - he would not be responsible for toppling countries for the sake of his own desires. The only hope he had was to save her as a man, a brigand, a rogue, he thought ironically. The public outrage would then be directed at him, not at Celene or the Grey Wardens or Ferelden. Once Morrigan was free, they could continue to try to prove her innocence and end this nightmare.

The Warden had recognized when he visited Morrigan in Chateau d'Isolement that there was no hope of escaping from the prison itself. It was too isolated and Morrigan too well guarded for them to be successful. They would have to wait until the execution itself, when the crowds were overflowing and well-placed chaos could provide the distraction they needed.

If he was fortunate enough to be able to rescue her, they would be on their own, for he would not involve the Empress any more than he had to. Celene had risked much for them and he did not want her to be destroyed by her loyalty to Morrigan. She had told them of an old abandoned hunting lodge she had found on one of the Imperial Estates in the countryside when she was a child. No one else knew of it and Celene thought it would be safe for a few days until she could send word. She would continue investigating in hopes of clearing Morrigan. The Empress had offered to care for the child until Wynne could arrive and she would then send them both to join the Warden and Morrigan as soon as possible. Hunter would stay behind with his son and help Celene protect him at all costs, until they could be reunited. They would then have to find someplace to perform the exorcism, but it was all she could do. And the Warden was grateful. He knew this would make him a fugitive, but there was no choice now. At least he had ordered Zevran and Oghren to make sure no one was harmed. He hoped to escape without bloodshed.

-----

There was no last minute reprieve. Roget did not return with the blood mage, and he was feared dead. The Warden had wanted to be in the courtroom, to show Morrigan support, but there had been too much left to do, and he had not come for the final few days of the trial. He had gauged the direction and had seen how it would end. Morrigan stood no chance. The bias was obvious and the trumped up evidence was enough to seal her fate. Morrigan was convicted and sentenced to be burned at the stake. As the Warden had expected, Acharne had pushed for a swift execution to send a message to all Orlesians. There would be a new order in which tolerance had no place, but terror would play a lead role. They had only two days to finish their preparations. He was Morrigan's only hope now.

-----

Morrigan had been crushed when she had not seen the Warden the last days of her proceedings. She had prayed Ryder had taken Brycan away from Val Royeaux where their son would be safe from Acharne, and indeed, she had begged him to do so, but when he had not left immediately, choosing instead to attend her trial, she had been secretly grateful. For though she was not sure how he felt about her anymore, she had convinced herself that his presence meant something. Certainly, it meant something to her. Morrigan did not know why he had abandoned her now, only that she was clinging to the strength he gave her by being there, and his conspicuous absence hit her hard, sapping what little hope she had left. Now she wondered what he had come for at all, if he would not see it through to the end. Perhaps he had only waited to see what to do with Brycan, and having seen the inescapable outcome, had finally left with his son. And she was grieved.

-----

Celene was inconsolable. The two people she cared about most seemed lost to her. She had decided to attend the execution only to let Morrigan see her and know she was there in support, but it had been a terrible struggle, for she could not bear to watch her friend be put to death in this horrible way. She prayed that the Warden would be successful. They had done everything they could to stop this officially. Now Celene could only stand by helplessly, and hope the Warden lived up to his heroic reputation. She had helped him set up his escape plan, for she would not let her friend be executed by Acharne's dastardly conspiracy. She had shown him the way to the secret passageway out of the palace and into the forest where their horses would await them. The Empress risked much, but in her heart it was the only thing to do. It was justice, and if she could not see justice done in her country, she did not wish to **be** Empress. She had supplied the old lodge with food and clothing for the Warden and Morrigan only a few days prior, making ready for them as best they could. If all went well, it would only be a few days before the Spirit Healer mage from Ferelden arrived and could take the boy to them. Then, hopefully, they would be able to exorcise the Old God from the child.

And she still prayed for Roget's safe return. The thought of him brought tears to her eyes. No, she would not accept that he could be gone. She knew in her heart he lived…he had promised to return to her and he had never broken his word. He still lived. He had to, or her heart would die with him.

-----

Morrigan was wheeled out in a horse-drawn cart, bound with more ropes than were necessary. It was another way Acharne could humiliate her. She was defiant, and refused to shed tears. She would stay strong in the face of this travesty and she would not give Acharne the satisfaction of breaking her. Morrigan thought how ironic it was that she should be put to death for something she did not do, when there was so much she should have been held accountable for in her past and was not. If there **was** a Maker, He had a sense of humor after all, for this was His final joke upon her.

She thought of her conversations with Leliana about the existence of the Maker. Morrigan had argued with all logic and practicality, but could not shake the Orlesian girl's faith. And in truth, the three people she had come to respect most in her life - Ryder, Celene, and Wynne - were believers, and she did not consider them fools. Perhaps, as she had been wrong about so many things in her life, she was in error on this matter. So much had happened that Morrigan could not explain…that seemed more than chaos and chance. If she **had** been wrong, she prayed the Maker had not truly abandoned His creations with Andraste's death, for while it was too late for her, her son would need Him, especially in the days to come.

-----

The Warden was ready. Zevran and Oghren were in place. There were traps set in strategic places, diversions and blockades ready to be activated when the time was right. Archways and exits were booby-trapped. Anything to gain them time to make their escape. Wearing his hooded cloak over his armor to protect his identity, he positioned himself in the mob to remain unnoticed as Morrigan was taken to the stake and bound. The towering pyre was built steeply with far more kindling than was needed to accomplish the task. It was clear Acharne intended a long and excruciating spectacle to prolong his sick satisfaction and Morrigan's suffering. He could not swallow the lump in his throat as he watched her being prepared for execution. She was resolute, her head bravely held high in contempt of the proceedings.

-----

Roget crashed through the door of the Chantry magistrate's office, dragging a man in mages' robes. The gash in his side from the mage's dagger continued to bleed, but he had no time to attend to it now. From the effect it was having on him, Roget suspected it bore a poison, but it must have been slow-acting, or he would not still be standing. His vision was becoming blurry, and his thinking was less clear, but he had to see this through. He explained the situation quickly, fearing he would lose consciousness before the truth could be revealed. The mage confessed, fearing Roget more than Acharne at that point, and was apprehended by the Chantry Templars. The magistrates looked at each other nervously, telling Roget that Morrigan had already been convicted and was being burned at the stake at that moment. With his last ounce of strength, he grabbed the collar of the chief magistrate, the only man with the authority to stay the execution at that point, and growled at him, "You must stop this, or there will be anarchy, you fool! It's what Acharne wants, can't you see it? You must act now!"

The magistrate shook off his stupor, nodding, "Yes, of course! Quickly, guards!"

And they flew to the town square where Morrigan was to be executed.

-----

The time was close now. The Warden had moved to the front of crowd so Morrigan could see him. He was careful to stay far from the Empress to avoid implicating her. Morrigan looked straight ahead, trying not to react to the taunts and shouts. The mob was hurling things at her now. She flinched and turned away periodically, but did not respond. The Warden pulled an object from beneath his robe and let it catch the sunlight, angling it into her face to draw her attention.

Morrigan turned to see the source of the flash, and saw a man in a hooded robe. He flipped the object in his hand when she looked at him, and she recognized the deer and sparrows dancing on the back of **her** mirror, the beloved golden mirror **he** had given her. She could not see his face, but she knew it was her Warden, and her resolve crumbled, for she realized he had come back to be with her in her final moments. "I love you," she mouthed to him, tears streaming down her face. Ryder's heart broke and he steeled his jaw. Either they would both live through this day or they would both die, for he would not leave without her. He put the mirror back into his cloak, and inauspiciously withdrew The Rose's Thorn, a dagger without peer once used by the infamous assassin The Black Rose, hiding it in his sleeve.

-----

Behind the Warden, at the back of the crowd, Roget, the chief magistrate, and a group of Templars had located Acharne. Roget shouted at him, for he could barely be heard above the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd, "It's over Acharne! We know everything! You murdered Baron de Winter, with the help of your blood mage friend, and tried to implicate Morrigan. We have the evidence and his confession!"

Acharne looked startled and disconcerted. He looked to the magistrate, who shouted, "Cut her down, Acharne! As Chief Magistrate of the Chantry of Val Royeaux, I put an end to this execution and place you, Knight-Commander, under arrest for the murder of Baron de Winter! Guards, take him!"

Acharne's cruel hatred turned to madness then, and he refused to stand down. He pushed away the Templar that had stepped in to seize him, and shouted, "No! The sentence has already been passed! She is a witch! A danger to all of Orlais! She must burn!" Then he vaulted himself through the crowd, his eyes alight with insanity.

Unaware the truth was out and Morrigan was cleared, the Warden knew nothing of the magistrate's attempted arrest of Acharne. He waited impatiently for his moment. Suddenly, the din of the crowd was drowned out by the sound of explosions around the edges of the city. Ryder smiled. Oghren and Zevran were right on time. He took advantage of the crowd's confusion and distraction, making his move to the stake. He halted, stunned, when he saw Acharne burst through the throng, knock his own Chevalier down and grab the torch. Before the Warden could react, Acharne had pressed the torch into the pyre.

"Maker, no!" the Warden shouted, regaining his senses. He hurled himself at the Chevalier, knocking the torch from his hand, but the damage had been done. The oil that had been spread on the wood bundles at the base of the stake caught fire. Smoke began to issue heavily from the pyre, and Morrigan could no longer see, her eyes stinging, her throat burning.

"Morrigan!" the Warden shouted, trying to climb the pyre to reach her. But Acharne grabbed his leg, pulling him backwards. The Warden kicked him off and scrambled towards Morrigan again. The heat began to sear her skin now, and the smoke she had inhaled hampered her breathing.

Acharne launched himself at the Warden, screaming, "No, she must die! The witch must burn!"

The Warden was panicking now. He had to free Morrigan first! The flames were rising, the smoke billowing. By the Maker, she would soon burn alive! But Acharne clung to him, clawing and grabbing, and the Warden could not get to her.

The flames were at her feet now. Morrigan could hear the crackle of the wood as it burnt. The pain was becoming intense, and she could not stop coughing as the smoke filled her lungs. She closed her eyes and thought of her Warden one last time. The pain overwhelmed her at last. She cried out in agony and lost consciousness.

When the Warden heard her cry, a madness overtook him, and he stopped his futile attempts to reach Morrigan and turned on Acharne. Acharne's eyes widened at the fury on the Warden's features. The Warden leaped upon him, slashing wildly with The Rose's Thorn. Acharne fell backward, and the Warden dove upon him and buried the dagger in his neck repeatedly until he was certain the hated Chevalier could stop him no more. Then he pushed himself up, clearing his head of the bloodlust, and found the pyre. The smoke was so thick he could no longer see her.

"No, no, no," he whispered frantically. The Warden leaped onto the pile, the flames licking at him, burning his legs, burning his hands as he climbed. When he reached her, she was slumped over. She had been burned, but the flames had not yet reached the top of the pyre. He did not know if she was alive or dead, but he sawed and hacked at the ropes furiously until he had freed her, and lifting her in his arms, he jumped off the pyre rolling with her when he landed and coming up in a gallop, not looking back, not allowing himself to feel the searing pain of his own burns that threatened his consciousness. The Warden made his way towards the secret passage and freedom.

-----

Zevran and Oghren had done their jobs well, and then melted away. The chaos that had consumed the crowd had been the perfect distraction. Most had scattered in fear, completely forgetting their barbaric entertainment of the day. Most of the guards had run in the direction of the commotion and the others were disoriented. Those that were chasing Acharne had lost him in the crowd, unaware the Warden would soon dispatch him.

The Imperial Guard had immediately surrounded Celene and tried to whisk her to safety, but as the mob dispersed, she had seen the prostrate body of Roget in the center of the square, and fighting her way through her own bodyguards, ran to his side in terror, calling for a healer.

Roget had collapsed when Acharne had made his escape. He had tried to cast a Paralyze spell on him, but the loss of blood and the unknown poison in his system had finally overwhelmed him. But he had made her a promise. "Celene," he whispered weakly before passing out.

-----

The Warden had not stopped running. He had set off all the traps and diversions as he had passed them to give them time to reach the passage. Once inside, he plowed ahead until they had reached the forest entrance and the horses. It was only then he allowed himself to check on Morrigan. He had refused to accept that he might already be too late, that she might already be gone. She had not moved or uttered a sound since he had heard her cry out and his fear was palpable. He begged the Maker the whole time he ran with her to let her live, to give her back to him. When the Warden cleared the passage, he fell to his knees, overcome by pain and emotion, and laying her gently on the ground, he studied her for signs of life. At first he saw nothing, and he despaired, but then he thought he saw her chest rise and fall slightly. It was shallow, but she still drew breath! He exulted, gave Morrigan every health potion he had, and re-galvanized by hope, lifted her onto his white stallion and climbed up behind her. He grabbed the reins of the horse she was to weak to ride and raced off to Celene's Imperial hunting lodge.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

"Renewing Old Acquaintances"

When Morrigan awoke, she knew she was in terrible condition. Wracked with pain from her burns, she could barely breathe from all the smoke she had inhaled, but she was alive! How had this happened? And she knew. She knew it must have been her Warden. She tried to look around for him, but her eyes were burning and swollen and she could see little. She only knew she lay in a bed in unfamiliar surroundings and appeared to be alone. The last thing she remembered was Acharne lighting the pyre and the Warden rushing towards the flames. She remembered smoke and fire and pain, but no more. She knew she must heal herself, and quickly, or risk losing consciousness again. She raised her arms, wincing with pain, and cast a healing spell. Better. She cast again and again until her mana was drained. Then she rested. The burns were already healed. She was still weak from the smoke, but after several more spells she felt strong enough to stand. But her back...she had been unable to heal it at the time of the flogging as they had suppressed her magic, and it was still sensitive. She walked to the dusty mirror in the room and turned her back to it, peeling away her robe. Some of the wounds had healed, but not all. She frowned. Morrigan had always been pleased by her body, but no more. She dropped her eyes and noticed the golden hand mirror the Warden had given her resting on the dresser. Her expression softened, and she allowed a wistful smile to cross her face as she lightly traced the figures on the back. Then she turned to the door and went down the stairs to find the Warden.

As Morrigan descended and saw him, her heart leapt with joy. She stopped on the landing, overcome by emotion. The Warden had made a fire which was heating water and what smelled like a stew. She watched him pouring hot water into a great tub. He had still not noticed her. As he tilted the bucket, he suddenly cried out in pain and dropped the pail onto the floor. The Warden sunk to his knees, thrusting his arms away from his body. Then she saw, and she was devastated. His hands and legs were burned badly. He had been brutally injured trying to save her. It had not occurred to her that he might be wounded as well. Her Warden had always seemed invincible to her. She cast a spell of healing on him.

Ryder was stunned. His hands appeared better, and the pain was not as severe. He realized that it must have been Morrigan. He looked towards the stairs and caught her eye. For a long moment they stared intensely at each other, each with a thousand things they wanted to say, but neither able to speak. Morrigan cast another spell of healing, her hands glowing. She walked up to him and, looking into his eyes, took his hands in hers and healed him completely.

The Warden broke the silence, "You are well, then."

Morrigan smiled. "Yes, I will be alright. I have cast many spells on myself," she said.

He looked relieved.

Morrigan looked around. "Where is Brycan? He is safe with Wynne?" she asked expectantly.

The Warden shook his head, "He is with Celene."

"What? I…you promised to take him away from Val Royeaux, to make him safe. I begged you!" she hurled at him, her anguish overwhelming her gratitude.

"Morrigan, Brycan is safest with Celene. She will protect him until Wynne arrives in the city. Then she will send Wynne and the boy here and we will exorcise the Old God. It was the only thing to do, the only way I could…" he pleaded.

Morrigan cut him off, "But what about Acharne? He will stop at nothing to hurt me! He will use Brycan to get to me!"

"No," the Warden said with finality. "He will never threaten you or the child again. I have slain him."

Morrigan stopped her tirade then, her anger broken. So, that monster Acharne was dead. Now, her Warden would be a fugitive, too, because of her. She thought how completely her involvement with Ryder had ruined his life. And she hated herself anew.

The Warden continued softly, in the wake of her silence, "Morrigan, you asked me to let the only woman I've ever loved die horribly. How could I **not** try to save you both, if it was possible?"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I know," she whispered, regretting her prior outburst, "'Twas a terrible choice I gave you. I knew it and hated asking it of you. Forgive me. None of this is your fault. 'Tis just that our son is such a wonderful boy. He reminds me of you in so many ways, bright and mischievous and charming. I am certain you must have been the same at his age, my rogue Warden," she said, teasing him. Then her smile vanished. "I…I could not bear it if something happened…"

He took her hands in his and drew them to his lips, kissing them gently, and reassured her, "I will let nothing happen to the boy, I swear it. We will make sure the Old God cannot take him. Celene will send word of events and Wynne will come with the answer, you must believe this."

Morrigan relaxed slightly. She believed in him, and would have to trust him.

"I…I have drawn a bath for you. I thought after you had healed enough…it might make you feel better," he offered.

Morrigan smiled gratefully. She walked over to the bath while he gathered more hot water and poured it in. She began to remove her robe with the immodesty of a former lover. He was behind her then, trying to help her. Then she remembered her back and she stopped, looking over her shoulder uncertainly. She did not want him to see her like this. "There are…marks," she said, ashamed.

"What?" he said, not grasping her meaning. Then he understood, and was outraged. "But Celene said she gave express orders you were not to be harmed in any way!" he cried angrily.

"'Tis true, she did issue such commands, but these men were cruel, and when she was no longer allowed to visit, Acharne had me flogged," Morrigan remembered, a shudder running up her once beautiful back.

The Warden could feel the rage rising in him. He would have slain them all had they been there then.

Morrigan was embarrassed, seeing his reaction, and she said weakly, "I have healed most of them, but…there are some that will never mend. There will be…scars," she said, lowering her head.

The Warden looked at her, grieved by her pain, and gently pulled her robe down to reveal the lashes on her back. He kissed them gently, lovingly, to show her that it did not matter to him, that this savage attack did not change the way he looked at her.

"Morrigan, you will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me," he declared emotionally.

What had she done to deserve this man? Morrigan thought.

-----

When she had finished bathing he wrapped her in a fresh cloak Celene had left for her. They stood for a moment gazing into each other's eyes. The Warden ached to kiss her, but he dared not, for he knew his desire would overwhelm him. He stepped away, saying, "You should try to eat something and get some rest."

Morrigan looked at him tenderly as he walked away to get the food. She knew he had wanted to kiss her then. And she knew why he hadn't. Even after five years apart, his main concern was for **her** welfare, not to satisfy his own needs. He **loved **her. It was not just passion, as she had so long tried to convince herself. She didn't think it possible to love him more, but in that moment, she did.

-----

At first, it was awkward between them. There was so much to say and neither of them could find a way to begin. It had been five long years since they had been together and they were unaccustomed to each other. And much had changed. Morrigan had changed. They would need time to learn each other again - to explore and discover who they were now. They made small talk while they ate, and then the Warden, sensing the floundering, asked her to tell him about his son. Morrigan's eyes lit up then, and she became effusive, telling him everything she could think of about the boy. He smiled, thinking he would love the child as much as she did. Then her face clouded, and he knew she was worried for her son. He reached out across the table and covered her hand, gently squeezing it. Morrigan tried to smile, but it was half-hearted and unconvinced.

After a time, they had begun to feel more comfortable with each other. Morrigan had beamed when he told her of the advancements Ferelden had made and the things that had been accomplished. She knew most of these things were because of him, though he would never think to phrase it so. His lack of self aggrandizement pleased her almost as much as his wondrous achievements. The Warden had learned about the life Morrigan had been leading at the Court of Val Royeaux. He was equally proud of her. She had become the confidante of the leader of the most powerful country in Thedas. She had trained and educated the Orlesians in the ways of the darkspawn and helped to advance their state of readiness, dealing herself with a number of darkspawn incursions. They talked about the ways in which the darkspawn had evolved and they talked of ways to counter it. And finally, when the fire they sat beside was only embers, he wished her a pleasant sleep and sent her up the stairs to get some rest. He stoked the fire, and laid down beside it, thinking of Morrigan and longing to be at her side, if only to hold her, but as he had always done, choosing instead to wait for her.

-----

Morrigan lay in her bed willing sleep to come to her. She was exhausted and knew she needed rest, but it eluded her. For her mind would not leave the Warden. She truly ached for him, and to be so tantalizingly close... She felt her desire rise remembering what it had been like between them. Such memories of him were powerful and she had lived on them for five agonizingly empty years. That had to be sufficient when he was so far away, when she thought he no longer cared for her, but now… No, she knew he was right. She needed the rest and their passion would wait another day. She smiled wantonly. She and the Warden would need all their strength, for she intended to drive them both to exhaustion when the time was right. And at last she fell asleep.

Morrigan cried out so loudly that the Warden heard her, and in one motion he had grabbed StarFang and leaped up the stairs and thrown her door open, expecting to find her under attack. The room was bathed in moonlight, and he could see that there was no one in the room. Morrigan was in her bed, distraught.

"What is it? What's wrong, Morrigan?" he cried, springing to her side and gathering her in his arms to comfort her, for she was clearly shaken. She threw her arms around his waist and let him hold her briefly before she gathered herself.

"I…'twas but a dream," she said, feeling foolish. "I…am sorry. I am alright now. 'Twas…disturbing, and I reacted badly. Forgive me for waking you. It…the fire…" Scowling, she shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory.

The Warden took her in his arms and held her close, whispering into her hair, "It's alright. It's over now. It's over, my love." He comforted her, stroking her hair, letting her work past the horror of her ordeal at the stake. And after a time, she quieted, and he saw she was asleep. And Ryder sat with her, holding her, until he fell asleep himself.

When Morrigan awoke, she was still in his arms, and it was still night. She was overwhelmed with tenderness towards him, and reached up to caress his sleeping face softly. She kissed him gently, lovingly, intending only to show her gratitude for his kindness and understanding. But as he stirred beneath her lips, so stirred her passion, and she found herself kissing him more fervently, more hungrily. Ryder was conscious of her now, of her lips on his, of the fierceness in her kiss.

"My Warden," she whispered to him passionately, "I have missed you so."

And he knew their time apart was over, and he would resist no longer.

-----

"Love me always, Ryder," Morrigan murmured, clasping his hand, her fingers entwining with his.

He pulled back to look in her eyes and offered her his most charming, tender smile. "I have **always** loved you…even when I was furious with you. From that first day you came upon us searching for the Grey Warden treaties," he said to her, bemused by the memory.

Morrigan looked at him passionately and ran her finger lightly along his lips, "I had found something special in my Korcari Wilds."

The Warden smiled, "I have loved you from that day and I will love you from this. Do you not yet understand, Morrigan? We will never be free of each other. We are meant to be together, fated to love each other until we die." And he kissed her.

When their lips parted, she pressed her head against his, caressing his face, nuzzling him. "I…was afraid of you," she whispered, confessing what she thought was her long-held secret.

"I know," he whispered softly, burying his lips in her hair.

She looked at him sadly and laid her head on his chest. "I did everything I could to push you away, to make you hurt me, so that I could do what I was told to do, what I found I wanted to do less every day, every hour I was with you. But you would not give up on me. You would not let me go, no matter what I said or did. And after a time, I could not let **you** go. I could not deny my feelings anymore. I could not pretend I did not care for you. When you told me you loved me that night in the Brecilian Forest, I tried to fight you as I had done all along, but I was lost. I left you because I knew we could not be together. Because I was an apostate, and because I loved you, and would not want you harmed because of me. If you believe nothing else, believe that," she implored him, gazing into the deep brown eyes she loved so.

Ryder looked at her intensely and it sent a shiver up her spine. "I do believe you, Morrigan, and I know what a struggle you have faced, trying to reconcile what you were taught with how you felt. I have ached to see you in such pain, to see you suffer. And I could only wait for you," he said tenderly.

Morrigan pressed him, "But why? In truth, I gave you nothing but pain and grief. I was not worth your effort, your patience, your love. Why would you wait for me, when there are so many others who would gladly have given you their hearts?" She thought of Leliana. "I am not like other women…"

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands, "Because my beautiful sorceress, you are **not** like other women. You are wild and confident and inhibited and insecure. You are strong and brave and frightened of your own emotions. You are intelligent yet you do foolish things. You are sensuous and passionate, but childlike and innocent. You are everything worth waiting for, and I would have waited forever for you."

Morrigan's eyes glistened. Ryder brought her lips to his and kissed her deeply and passionately. And they made love as though it were the first and last time.

-----

On the fourth day, they heard the sound of a horse approaching. The Warden flew to the door, a weapon in each hand. It was Henri, the captain of Celene's Imperial guard. He told them all that had happened, that the truth was out, and they were free. Wynne had arrived and awaited them at the Empress' quarters. They looked at each other, scarcely able to believe it was over. Their plans to spend their lives running were no longer necessary. The Warden lifted Morrigan in his arms, twirling her about, overcome with joy, and she laughed, arms clinging to his neck. When he set her back on the ground, he kissed her tenderly.

"Now we get our son," he said with determination.

And they rode back to Val Royeaux.


	22. Chapter 22

22.

"Next To Godliness"

Celene had not left Roget's side and he remained unconscious. They had said he would recover, but the poison used to coat the mage's dagger was a strong one, and he was lucky to be alive. He needed rest and time. So the Empress had camped out with Brycan in a suite where she could monitor Paul's progress and conduct matters of state, but still be heavily guarded. She was unsure what the consequences of the bedlam of that day would be. Morrigan's escape and Acharne's death could be incendiaries for civil turmoil if she did not handle everything properly. She had calmed the city after the initial chaos, and had made announcements and postings all across Val Royeaux, explaining Acharne's involvement and Morrigan's innocence. In the days following the debacle, the Empress had also seen to it the Warden was absolved of any blame in Acharne's death, given the circumstances. She had to hope the truth would settle things down. And she had sworn to look after the boy.

It was strange. Brycan seemed to miss his mother less every day, and he had always been an affectionate child. But he seemed so…different. Colder, more aloof. And there were times when a look would pass across his face that was…chilling. Not that of a child at all. In truth, it made her nervous to watch him at this point, though she loved him dearly, and had promised the Warden she would raise him if the unthinkable happened. It was just that he no longer **seemed **like Brycan. She could hardly conceive of that "thing" being inside him, waiting. She had seen it when she had introduced the Warden to the boy, and she was seeing more and more signs of it now. It frightened her – and she was not easily frightened. For all her power as Empress, Celene felt helpless to do anything to save the child. She could only see to his physical safety and well-being while they waited for the Fereldan Spirit Healer. Maker, let her arrive with an answer soon, Celene prayed, for I fear this Old God will not wait much longer.

Celene heard Roget call her name. She put her anguish over the child out of her head, and went to his side, taking his hands in hers. "I'm here, Paul," she said soothingly, stroking his hair.

And moments later, his eyes opened and he looked at her. He smiled weakly when he saw her face hovering over his. "I have kept my promise, my Empress. I am, as always your loyal servant," he said, a sparkle in his eye.

Her eyes shone as she leaned in to him, smiling. She whispered, "Morrigan has been freed. You have proven her innocence. But I have one more favor to ask of you, my good and faithful Roget."

"Anything," he answered.

"You must get well, for I would build a life with you. I need you to stand at my side and help me take this country forward. We will face opposition, but if you are willing to risk it, I will do everything I can to make you happy. And I will love you the rest of my life," Celene vowed fervently.

"I can refuse you nothing. My life and my heart are yours," he said smiling.

-----

Morrigan and the Warden returned to Val Royeaux discreetly, not wishing to test their freedom by riding boldly through the streets of the city. The Warden felt it was wiser and Morrigan agreed. So they entered through the passage they had exited from, and returned to Celene. She was overjoyed to see her friends safe and unharmed. She had feared the worst when she saw Acharne light the pyre. But in the pandemonium that ensued, she had lost sight of Morrigan and the Warden. They looked at each other and decided they would spare Celene the grisly details of their injuries that Morrigan had healed. She suffered enough guilt from her inability to stop the madness. Instead, they both thanked her profusely for everything and upon being reassured that Roget would be alright, they asked to see Brycan. Wynne had arrived the night before with what she hoped would be the solution, and Celene had allowed the mage to take the boy into a separate room to study him and gauge the Old God's status and power. Morrigan was anxious to see her son. Celene did not want to tell her of the changes that had occurred, but she knew she must.

"Morrigan," she said tentatively, touching her friend gently on the arm, "I…Brycan is…acting strangely. He has withdrawn from all of us, and I fear…we must act quickly. Wynne is evaluating him now. Do not expect much from him when you see him."

Morrigan looked struck. She shook her head. Were they already too late?

The Warden stepped up, "Come, we will go see our son and talk to Wynne."

Wynne saw them approaching and embraced them both. "There is much to do now that you are here," she told them. She looked at Morrigan sympathetically, "We must begin the exorcism as soon as possible. Things have progressed farther than I had hoped. Morrigan, I am sorry, I do not think it is in your best interests to see the boy now. He has become belligerent, uncooperative. I believe Urthemiel senses he is in danger, and is using the boy to drive us off until the Manifestation can be completed. And I believe the time is nearly upon us. The God's whispers are driving my Spirit of Faith mad."

Morrigan looked at Wynne in disbelief. "But I am his mother! I have not seen him in weeks, since I was arrested. I must go to him. He will want to see me, I know it," she said resolutely, pushing past Wynne and opening the door to the room where Brycan sat playing. He was so innocent, so sweet and loving. Her eyes welled with tears to see him again, and she stepped forward to gather him up, crying joyfully, "Brycan! My son!"

The child turned to look at her and there was no recognition, no love, no innocence in his eyes. Only coldness. He turned back to his playing.

Morrigan stopped in her tracks, stunned at the boy's reaction. She had been gone too long. Perhaps he was just confused, angry with her. "Brycan? I…I had to be away for awhile, but I am back now, I swear it."

She stepped towards him again. This time there was no mistaking the reaction she got. The child/God jerked his head toward her, narrowing his preternatural eyes, and hissed, "Begone! I have no need of you, witch!"

Morrigan recoiled. The Warden caught her and pulled her from the room. "His eyes…did you see his eyes?" she said horrified. Distressed, she buried her face in his chest.

The Warden wrapped his arms around her and looked at Wynne, asking solemnly, "Can you be ready tomorrow?"

Wynne nodded. "The answer is in the Fade. It is through the Fade that the Old God will seize the child and where He is vulnerable. The exorcism must be performed there and it must be done before Urthemiel reaches full power or Manifestation occurs, else it will be too late. He is half in the boy where he lies dormant and half in the Fade. If he can be exorcised from the child in the Fade then Brycan will be free, but if he can be destroyed there, he can no longer threaten anyone. He will dissipate. He cannot live in such a state." Wynne turned to Morrigan, sympathy marking her features. "Let me go in to face him, Morrigan. You have been through enough. My Spirit of Faith will aid me," she offered.

Morrigan turned to her, steeling herself. "No, Wynne. I am grateful for all you have done. I will need your help, truly. But I cannot allow you to risk yourself to rescue my son. 'Tis for me to do. You will be my guide on the outside, and I will meet the Old God and send him to his fate. 'Tis my fault this has happened. I have unleashed this horror on my own son. 'Tis for me to make it right," she said adamantly.

Wynne admired her motherly ferocity. She had not expected this of Morrigan. Though there was much she had not expected of the young woman, that she had proven capable of in recent weeks. Wynne was beginning to understand the potential the Warden had seen in her so long ago. "Very well, I will monitor you from the Circle Tower, and control the lyrium. We will be ready tomorrow, and we will save your son," she said squeezing Morrigan's hand encouragingly.

-----

Morrigan stared at the ceiling. She was filled with dread, as much from the dreams she knew she would face, as for the task that lay in front of her. She was not afraid of the Old God, only that she might fail to free her son.

The Warden lay beside her, watching her torment, wishing there was more he could do. He knew her guilt ran deep. And he could hardly argue that she bore no responsibility, but it pained him greatly to see her suffer this way, when she so regretted her past. And he feared the next day's events. Damn it! He wanted to help her, but his weapons were of no use against a God in the dream realm. He could not even stand at her side. It was true she had a unique connection with the Fade, and she had freed Eamon's son from the demon that possessed him, but this seemed far more dangerous. The Old God was no common demon. What if Morrigan couldn't defeat him? Maker, they had been through so much, survived so much. To lose her now…

"Morrigan," he whispered, his voice betraying his emotion.

She turned to him, picking up his anxiety, knowing he worried for her. "I will succeed my Grey Warden. Fear not. He is but a God, while **I** am the daughter of Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, scourge of man. So, you see, I cannot fail. 'Tis impossible," she teased, smiling at him.

He returned her smile, marveling at her confidence, though he was unsure if it was artificial and for his benefit.

Morrigan's smile faded and she spoke in earnest, "But I would speak to you now of things past, of mistakes I have made. There is much I would say, much I regret. I have tried to find a way to tell you before now, yet I have never found the words. But I would give voice to my thoughts before tomorrow. I have no excuse for what I have done, for the pain I have caused you, but know that…I am sorry, truly…for everything. 'Tis woefully inadequate, I know. But I could wait no longer and I…would have things right between us before…"

The Warden responded gently, "I cannot say you have not angered me, that I have not known frustration and grief from your actions, but I know that Flemeth is at the root of much that you have done and said. And I knew the answer was to eradicate her from your heart and mind. I have given you time, and shown you patience, because I believed you could overcome her influence if given the chance." He thought of Flemeth, and wondered how they would deal with her when next their paths crossed. But now was not the time. Tomorrow's battle was a different one, though, in truth, he was not sure which he dreaded most.

Her voice pulled him back. "I am most fortunate you are a patient man. Were I you, **I** should have dispatched me long ago for my capricious ways, if not for my deeds," Morrigan said smiling.

"Oh, there were times when I wanted to wring your pretty little neck. I am not a saint," he returned wryly.

Morrigan's eyebrows rose. "Really? Do tell," she entreated, intrigued at this revelation.

Ryder began to list all the times he had wanted to throttle her.

Morrigan's eyes widened as he laboriously detailed her indiscretions, and finally, she started laughing, and begged him, "No, stop, please! No more. Was I really such a terror?"

"Not always. There were times you were sleeping. And other times, when you were…less difficult…more a trial than a terror, really," he recalled, enjoying his moment raking her over the coals.

"I **did** say I was sorry, did I not? 'Twas a sincere offering," she said sheepishly.

"I accept your apology, if only for the times you were decidedly **not** terrible," the Warden said smiling, feeling he had teased her enough.

"Then if you have satisfied yourself with my discomfort, and have truly forgiven me, let us speak of it no more. I would move forward and not look back on that which I was, if you would let it be so," she finished seriously.

He nodded, "Then we will have a fresh start, you and I. A new beginning."

Morrigan pulled him close, relief and gratitude washing over her. They would begin anew. But first, she must attend to matters at hand.

-----

Morning came and the Warden could not hold onto her any longer. They dressed silently, unexpressed feelings on their lips. They both knew they had to be focused today and they could not give in to their fears.

The boy had been under constant guard all night. Chevaliers guarded the perimeter and Templars kept Anti-Magic Wards and Glyphs of Neutralization in place in case the boy's powers should become a problem. They made preparations to go the Circle Tower in Val Royeaux to the Harrowing Chamber to enter the Fade and perform the exorcism. The child had become sullen and irascible, as if he knew what was to come.

There was a bustle of activity as arrangements were made and Circle tomes from Ferelden and the lyrium supplies were transferred to the Tower where Wynne awaited them. In all the chaos, only the Warden noted when a great mabari hound wandered into the room where his son was playing, and sat beside him, nuzzling him. The boy looked up and responded to the animal, a strange smile spreading across his lips as he pet the beast.

The Warden was pleased that some semblance of his son's innocence remained. His own mabari, Hunter, had given him great joy as a child, though he had seen few of the hounds in Orlais. Pity, he thought, as he continued packing. These Orlesians did not know what they were missing - mabaris were great companions as well as warriors. When next he looked, Brycan was gone. His eyes scanned the room and he realized the boy had slipped out and the mabari was gone with him. The others had assumed it was the Warden's hound and had paid it no attention.

A frenzied search yielded nothing. The Warden thought of Hunter and called him to assist. Morrigan knelt down to the dog and taking his face in her hands, begged him to find their son. An understanding passed between them. Hunter barked and ran, his twitching nose to the ground. They chased him and when they reached the palace gardens, they spotted the strange mabari with Brycan in tow, holding its collar. It was leading him off the Imperial grounds into the nearby woods. Hunter growled fiercely and charged the other hound, leaping upon it with jaws agape, snarling. The unfamiliar hound was hit with the full force of Hunter's Overwhelm attack and the two tumbled to the ground, rolling, biting, and tearing at each other. When they separated, the stray mabari glared at Hunter with malevolent reptilian eyes. Morrigan witnessed this and was stunned. These were not the eyes of a warhound.

"Flemeth!" she cried in horrified recognition of her mother's shapeshifted form. The dog jerked its head towards her and growled viciously. The Warden sprang to her side, both swords drawn.

Celene cried out, "Chevaliers! Templars! Quickly! To the gardens! Maleficar!"

Fangs bared and dripping, Flemeth crouched and coiled and launched herself at the Warden. He pushed Morrigan away from the attack and fell back. Flemeth sank her teeth into his arm and he dropped one of his blades. As he swung his other, Flemeth dodged and charged him again. He grasped her throat in desperation, barely holding back her gnashed teeth from his face.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck the beast from the side, knocking it from atop the Warden. Morrigan had recovered and attacked her mother. She knew Flemeth was powerful enough to resist many of her more subtle spells, but her mother was more susceptible to electricity and cold. Before Flemeth could recover, Morrigan cast a Cone of Cold on her, to slow her down while she healed the Warden.

Hunter was on the old witch then, circling and snapping at her, trying to keep her away from the Warden and Morrigan. When she heard the clanking armor of approaching knights, Flemeth realized the battle was lost. She could not afford to have them suppress her magic. She knocked the Warden's mabari back and converted her form to a great bird and took flight, Hunter jumping and snapping at the air behind her.

Flemeth cursed Morrigan and the Warden for stealing the Old God from her, but she would have her ultimate revenge. The ancient witch had hoped to help the Old God escape Morrigan's grasp so that she could perform the Manifestation ritual away from the Chevaliers and Templars, but they had guarded him closely for several weeks now, and her magic had been useless in their presence. Damn Morrigan! She would pay for her betrayal and her Warden would suffer endlessly if he interfered in her plans again. This she vowed.

When Morrigan saw Flemeth change forms and fly off, she raised her arms to shapeshift and pursue, her heart bent on vengeance. The Warden noted her intention and cried out, "No, Morrigan! Brycan needs you now!"

She came to her senses, and lowering her arms, glared at the great bird growing smaller in the distance. The Warden grabbed the child, who kicked and screamed and cursed at his father as he carried him towards the Val Royeaux Circle Tower.

Morrigan paused for a moment, looking at the sky. "There will be another time for us, Mother. Next time, you will not escape me," she said under her breath, menacingly.

-----

When they arrived at the Harrowing Chamber, the boy was near hysterics and he had to be tied down to prevent his own injury while they administered the lyrium.

Wynne approached Morrigan. "It is time," she said, gently. "I will do all that I can from the outside to protect you, and I have spoken to my Faith Spirit. She will do what she is able to assist you, though I fear there is not much she can do anymore. The Old God is in command of the Fade now. There is a great imbalance. It will be more difficult for you than we had hoped. But, it can be done," she finished.

Morrigan nodded, and clasped Wynne's hands. "My thanks …for everything," Morrigan said genuinely.

Wynne smiled encouragingly.

Then Morrigan turned to the Warden. There was little left to say that they had not said the night before, that they had not conveyed to each other physically. Her eyes glistened. "I love you, my Grey Warden. I will always be with you," she vowed.

"Morrigan," he started, his voice thick with emotion. He tried to say more, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

She smiled at him, to say she understood, and kissed him softly. Then she lay down and joined her son and the Old God in the Fade.


	23. Chapter 23

23.

"Fading Hopes - An Exorcise in Hostility"

Morrigan became aware she was in the Fade. She heard it first. It was loud, like a cold wintry wind whistling through the trees. But it was whispering. She did not recognize it, but somehow, she knew it was an ancient language. Morrigan was hearing Him now, speaking as He had spoken to her son, whispering as He had to Wynne's Spirit of Faith. It made her shiver and she feared for her son. She had to find Brycan immediately.

She moved through portals for a time, following her instincts in the Fade. Morrigan noted with alarm she had encountered few of the usual residents of the Fade that normally harassed her in some manner when she encroached on their plane. It would have been a welcome relief under any other circumstance, but she was unnerved by it now. The ones she had seen were cowering, muttering feverishly, madly. After a time, the familiar form of the great white wolf came to her. It was in pain, clearly, blinking rapidly and shaking its head. "You must stop it! The Fade is in chaos. All creatures here suffer from the God's presence. You hear it now, do you not?" the Spirit of Faith asked Morrigan.

Morrigan nodded, wincing. The whispering had gotten louder since she had entered the realm of dreams and death. And it was insidious. The sound seemed to echo in her head, piercing her skull. She could understand why Wynne's Spirit was being driven mad. "Tell me where my son is and I shall do what I can to end this," she promised.

"Follow me," the wolf said. She led Morrigan to a portal and stopped. "I can go no further. I fear being slain by the Old God. All here are threatened by Him. He is with the boy, and holds him tightly. It will be no easy task to free the child. Be wary, for His talents are many."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed and taking a deep breath to steel herself, she stepped through the portal to face the Being that held her son hostage.

-----

When she had passed through the gateway she saw Brycan, sitting beside Urthemiel, looking blank, as though a slate wiped clean. Her eyes moved to her intended target with hatred. He was the God of Beauty and He was…breathtaking. Her reaction to Him was unexpected. Her anger ebbed, and much to her horror, was replaced by another far different emotion - desire. He was magnificent, perfection of form, more exquisite than even her Warden. She had not thought that possible. He approached her. She felt…urges…pleasurable sensations as He neared. She found herself craving Him. She shook her head, trying to focus on her task.

"I am Urthemiel, Morrigan. Do you find my form pleasing? I am the God of Beauty, and whatever form you desire is that which I will present you, for beauty is in the gaze of he who beholds it, each to his own perception. If you wish, I can alter my appearance more to your liking," He murmured into her ear, His hands grasping her shoulders. She did not understand His words, which were still unintelligible to her, but she **felt** them. He was making His thoughts known to her. And she was having difficulty concentrating. She felt her will being sapped. What was happening?

"I…care not…what form you take…I…am here to end your existence," she struggled to say.

"Ah, my lovely sorceress, we do not have to be enemies, you and I. You are very beautiful. Join me, as you were intended to do. I could show you things, make you feel things beyond your imagining. We have no need of Flemeth. I will dispatch her and you will take her place at my side. I will give you power supreme, show you eternal consummate pleasure. You will want for nothing. You will be my right hand and we will usher in a new Age. I have been worshipped for eons, and you will be, too. Block my path no longer. Leave the Fade. Tell them it is done. I will quiet and allow the boy to appear as himself. When you are alone with him, **you** will perform the Manifestation ritual, and the Age of Urthemiel will begin," she felt Him say. Her body was awash with sensation as He caressed her.

Her breathing became labored, and she felt powerless to stop Him. He was seducing her, not as a man seduces a woman, or even as a desire demon beguiles her prey, but as a God entraps a mere mortal, enslaving her to His cause. She felt as though she were losing her own essence. Morrigan was not prepared for this. In spite of the Faith Spirit's warnings of treachery, she had not considered that the Old God would attempt to manipulate her in this manner.

She looked at her son, who was indifferent to her fate. And she thought of Ryder. She remembered their passion for each other and the intense gaze that had pierced her soul when they had parted. Her mind cleared and her heart swelled. "No!" she cried, shaking her head vehemently and pushing Urthemiel away, "I will yield not to your temptations! The life that I now desire does not include you."

"The boy is mine! It is your gift and your mother's promise. I grow impatient with your interference. Leave now and you live. Tax me further and you will suffer torments you have not dreamt of," Urthemiel intoned ominously.

"I fear you not, Ancient One. Your threats will not dissuade me from stopping you. The boy's soul is not mine to give and not my mother's to promise. I will not allow you to banish him from his body. Your reign ends now!" Morrigan said boldly. And she began the exorcise ritual.

Urthemiel's eyes blazed red with fury. "You will not take him from me, witch! I **will** occupy him! Feel the wrath of a God!" He raised a hand and long sharp nails began to grow from His fingertips. Then He suddenly clenched His clawed fist and Morrigan cried out, crumpling to her knees in agony. Urthemiel struck her mightily across the face, His claws ripping her flesh, knocking her backwards. She staggered to her feet, gritting her teeth, and continued murmuring the incantations.

-----

The Warden stood by Morrigan's side, his anxiety escalating. He could do nothing to help, and he thought it would drive him mad. He began to pace to control his frustration. When Morrigan cried out, he panicked, flying to her side. He saw the tears streaming down her face, and took her hand, speaking softly to her, "Morrigan, I'm here. You can do this, I know you can. I believe in you…I love you…"

He looked up at Wynne helplessly. "Do something!" he begged her.

Celene stepped up to his side. "Warden, do not interrupt her. She must maintain concentration or Morrigan is lost in the Fade," she chided gently.

He nodded, knowing she was right, but Morrigan was in pain. He could see it. What was happening in there?

-----

Urthemiel's form was no longer beautiful, but grotesque and terrible. "It's an illusion…I am in the Fade. 'Tis not real. I recognize the Fade," Morrigan told herself as the God sent every manner of torture at her. The pain was real, for she felt it, but if she could withstand it, she thought she could defeat Him here. His power in the Fade was limited and relied much on deception, but if she allowed Him to Manifest in the boy's body, He could destroy them all. She had to stop Him here, where she had the cognizance and power she needed to compete with Him. She kept reciting the ritual.

"Mother! Mother! Stop! You're hurting me!" Brycan shouted suddenly, grabbing his head, staggering about. Morrigan stopped for a moment, instinct begging her to go to her son to soothe him. But then she caught the subtle sneer of the God, and knew it was a trick. He had changed tactics to impede her, but it only made her press harder, realizing she must be succeeding.

Brycan began to cry, "Mother, why are you hurting me? I love you, please don't hurt me! Stop!"

Morrigan could not stop the tears from flowing, but she was nearing the end of the ritual and her son would soon be free.

Urthemiel began to wail simultaneously with the boy as the dormant half of him that resided in the boy was being torn away, exorcised, "Mother, why are you hurting me? I love you, please don't hurt me! Stop!"

The sound had become deafening and she could not hear her own incantation. Her head was splitting, and she thought she would be sick, but she kept going. She began to think she would not be able to maintain consciousness. And then, Morrigan thought she heard her Warden encouraging her, professing his love for her. It was enough. She stood against the storm that raged in her head and finished the ritual. There was a flash of bright light that blinded her, and when her vision returned, Brycan was no longer in the Fade. But Urthemiel was there, and He was seething.

-----

Brycan opened his eyes and started crying, asking for his mother. The Warden turned to his son and, looking into his eyes, realized he was clear. The God was no longer inside him. Morrigan had done it, he thought proudly. He freed the child and lifted him into his arms to comfort him. Brycan put his arms around his father's neck, and sobbed, while the Warden assured him his mother would be alright. Ryder wished he felt as confident as he sounded. Morrigan had not returned to consciousness when the boy did, and she had not moved for several minutes, though, thank the Maker, she still drew breath. The Warden began to talk to her again. He had no idea if she could hear him, but it was all he could think of to do, and he needed to feel as though he had not completely lost contact with her.

"Morrigan, you did it!" he whispered in her ear, "Brycan is free, you must come back now. Wake up. Your son is here and he needs you. **I** need you. Wake up, my love."

Celene encouraged him to keep talking to Morrigan and, seeing his distress, she took the boy from his arms, and took him into a corner, soothing him softly.

-----

Morrigan felt liberated herself when she saw her son was no longer a prisoner of the Old God. Now she could fight. There would be no collateral damage risk. She raised her arms and unleashed the full fury of her sorcery and her anger on Urthemiel. Flemeth had been right about Morrigan so long ago when she had stolen her as a child. Morrigan was special, her magic rivaling even that of the old witch. And she had reached her full potential. Morrigan fought for her life with the Warden and her son, and the God for his survival.

Morrigan transformed into a bereskarn, a great spiked bear, invoked her Rage spell and followed with her Slam and Overwhelm abilities, knocking the God to the ground and pinning Him there, attacking Him repeatedly. He threw her off effortlessly. Though she had clearly damaged Him, she realized that it seemed unlikely her shapeshifted forms would bring about Urthemiel's demise, so she converted back to her human form and discharged her Chain Lightning. He writhed in pain but retaliated, knocking her back. Every spell she hurled at him was met with an equal offensive reaction from the God. She used her Force Field and Cone of Cold spells to gain time to heal herself when she could. Morrigan tried her most powerful enchantments – she drained his health and mana, she tried her Shockwave and Shattering spells, her Mana Clash. The battle was violent and frenzied.

After a time, He was greatly weakened, but so was Morrigan, and eventually, her mana ran out. His attacks were furious and relentless. No longer able to heal herself by magic, her eyes searched frantically for the lyrium deposits she knew dotted the landscape of the Fade, for she knew her mana would not regenerate fast enough to fend off Urthemiel's next attack. Her only hope lay in finding one before He could assault her again. She was so close to ending this, she couldn't fail now. The Old God was as near defeat as she was.

In the near distance, Morrigan's eyes made out the familiar blue spikes of a lyrium deposit, and she bolted for it. Urthemiel was temporarily stunned by her movement, but quickly deduced the situation and struck her down just before she reached the lifesaving lyrium supply. He paralyzed her and came to stand over her prostrate form.

"A pity you must be annihilated." He sneered. "You would have made a formidable ally in the living realm."

He raised His arms to finish her when suddenly, from behind them, a voice cried out, "No!"

Morrigan looked towards the sound and saw the magnificent white wolf that had helped her. It transformed into a woman dressed all in white, surrounded by a pale glow, an aura of white light. Wynne's Faith Spirit had interceded.

Urthemiel glared at her, growling, "You dare to defy me?!? I warned you all what would happen if you interfered. Foolish Spirit, you cannot hope to defeat me! I will crush you both!"

"No," Wynne's Spirit of Faith said matter-of-factly, "'Tis you who will be destroyed. You have oppressed the Fade long enough, Ancient One. You do not belong to this realm and you are not welcome in the land of the Living. Your time is past. It is over."

Urthemiel laughed - a vicious unearthly howl that made Morrigan's skin crawl. "You think to stop me, now, Spirit? I am on the verge of defeating one of the most powerful beings the living realm can thrust in my path…their champion lies before me, facing destruction. What can you possibly hope to accomplish with your limited power? I am a **God**!" He taunted her arrogantly.

"Alone, perhaps nothing. But I am not alone," she said ominously. Suddenly, shapes and figures began to appear all about them. Demons, wraiths, and spirits of every shape, size, and disposition, good and evil, manifested in force around them. Emboldened by Morrigan's success, and rallied by the Spirit of Faith, every denizen of the Fade now gathered in mass rebellion against the cruel reign of the Old God.

Urthemiel's eyes widened as He comprehended the breadth of the coup against Him.

The aura surrounding the Faith Spirit began to glow brightly until a great beam of brilliant light issued forth from her and struck the God square in the chest, knocking Him to the ground. And those that called the Fade their home descended on Him with a fury, a common purpose – to destroy that which had invaded their realm and driven them mad these many years.

Morrigan's paralysis lifted and she quickly hit the lyrium deposit and rushed into the fray to fight at the side of the nether beings she had so long held in contempt. For at this moment, they were her allies against a greater evil.

Urthemiel was weakened by the exorcism, with His full power unrealized. The combined effort of the Fade inhabitants took its toll on the God, and Morrigan's anger was great.

-----

The Warden had not stopped talking to her, his hopes fading with every passing minute she did not stir. He laid his head on her shoulder, willing her to awaken.

And then, Morrigan's eyes opened. They crowded around her, asking a thousand questions. But she looked directly at the Warden first, and said to him, "It is over. That which I brought upon us is no more. Forgive me."

The Warden stood over her and caressed her face. "You and Brycan are back now and safe. That is all that matters," he said softly.

Morrigan looked at a smiling Wynne gratefully, and nodded, "Many thanks. And give my thanks to your Fade Spirit as well. She has saved us all."

Wynne answered, "She has told me to tell you she is grateful for the silence you have given her."

Morrigan laughed, "Tell her I, too, did not care for His speech overmuch."

"She also told me to tell you that you will not be harassed in the Fade ever again. You will know only peace there, for the dwellers of the Fade know you now. You are something of a heroine to them," Wynne said smiling.

Morrigan was greatly amused by this notion, and turned to the Warden. "Do not think to impress me with your Ferelden heroics now, my love, for I am the 'Heroine of the Fade' and I can match your prowess and reputation in the nether realm," she teased him.

Ryder laughed and took Morrigan in his arms. "You are a woman without peer," he granted.

She smiled, "See to it you remember that always."

"Mother?"

Morrigan looked around for her son, hopefully.

Celene handed Brycan to her, and she gathered him in her arms, holding him tightly. And this time, he embraced her as well.


	24. Chapter 24

24.

"Paradise Lost"

When they finally entered their room for the evening, Ryder could stand it no more and the moment the door was shut, he had pinned Morrigan to it. His eyes smoldered as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, gently, tenderly over and over. "I love you, Morrigan," he murmured against her lips, as he pressed his head to hers desperately.

Morrigan was taken aback at his intensity. She had known him long enough that she had a sense of his feeling. This was not passion. This was…fear? She reached up and grasped his face gently and pushed him back, to look into his eyes. "What is it, my Warden? What is wrong?" she asked softly, her brow furrowed.

He cast his eyes down, ashamed of his weakness. "When you did not awaken with Brycan, I feared…I know it is over, but I still feel…I…am being a fool," he said shaking his head, stepping away.

Morrigan smiled sympathetically, "Have I called you that so much that you believe it yourself, now? For I do not. Though you have acted strangely all day. 'Tis a mystery why you waited so long to speak to me of it." She found herself deeply regretting all the times she had railed at him about the weakness of emotion, for she was sure his hesitation was because of it.

He nodded lamely. "I…there seemed no good time. We were never alone," he managed.

Morrigan came up behind him and ran her fingers up his muscular back, sending a shiver of desire through him. When her hands reached his shoulders, she turned him to face her, and met his gaze with a fiery intensity of her own. "But we are alone now. And I am alive and well. And you are the man that haunts my dreams at night and my thoughts when I am awake. My love, my Warden," she said seductively, leaning in to kiss him.

-----

The Warden spoke first. "That was…something!" he gasped.

Morrigan's face took on a serious look, though there was a twinkle in her eyes that indicated otherwise, "Yes. 'Twas an experiment. I have heard tales of the games these Orlesians play. I was intrigued and I wished to try them. Since I have not been with a man since I left Ferelden, the task fell to you."

The Warden was shocked, "You've been with no one else? In five years?" He had not expected this. He'd just assumed…with her appetites…

"You thought because I am a Witch of the Wilds, I would have been with many men? Hmmph!" she said rising, pushing him away.

"No," he said coming up behind her grasping her shoulders gently, and pulling her close. "I just meant that I thought you had moved on. Five years is a long time, and you are a sensual woman," he murmured in a conciliatory fashion.

She turned to look at him. "Five years is an **eternity**. But I loved **you**. I ached for **you** and I did not desire another. Is that so difficult to believe?" she asked passionately.

He smiled, thinking it had been the same for him. "No, it is not so difficult to believe," he said.

Morrigan began to dress, pretending nonchalance, "But I know 'tis different for men. They are less able to control their urges. How many others have you been with? 10? 20? More? I do not begrudge you this. I left you and you thought you would never see me again. You are an exceptional man and handsome beyond reckoning. There must have been many women. Leliana, perhaps?"

She had tried to be casual, but the Warden knew she was barely containing her jealousy. He found this thinly veiled fishing expedition charming, and wanted to laugh, but dared not. Instead, he teased her, "Your green eyes betray you, my love."

Green?!? Did the fool not even know the color of her eyes after all this time? She whirled, irritated, "My eyes are not green. Have you noticed **nothing** about me in the time we have been together? You…" and she stopped, noting the bemused look on his face. Then the green-eyed reference to her jealousy became clear to her, and embarrassed, she lowered her head.

The Warden lifted her chin to look into her eyes. He whispered earnestly, "Morrigan, I know every detail about you. Every line, every curve. I know the birthmark high on your beautiful neck, the hollow of your throat, the scar on your ankle you try to hide. And I know those incredible golden eyes. Those amazing, seductive eyes that I was lost in the moment I met you. There is **nothing** about you I do **not** notice."

Morrigan flushed with pleasure at this disclosure.

"And Leliana, though you always perceived her as a threat, was never one. I know that she would have it otherwise, but I could not see anyone but you. I have been with no one since you left. I wanted no one. It has always been you," he finished, pulling her into his arms.

She closed her eyes, and holding him tightly, whispered, "It is the same for me."

"You will never escape me again, my love," he said, his eyes intensely boring into hers, "Do not attempt it."

Morrigan gave him a sad, strange look then, answering cryptically, "It is my greatest desire to stay with you forever. This you must believe, now and for the rest of my life, I will never love another. 'Tis only you, my Warden, always."

And the Warden knew that he, too, would never love another.

-----

And so it went for several days, the Warden content to stay in Orlais with his son and the woman he could not live without. Morrigan, too, was happier than she'd ever been. But she was troubled, for they were not truly free.

One morning, the Warden opened his eyes to find Morrigan studying him. "Morrigan?" he asked sleepily, "what is it?"

She had been watching him for some time now, memorizing every feature of his face, every muscle in his commanding frame. "You must return to Ferelden," she said simply.

"Yes, I know, but I wanted to give you some time to say goodbye. The Empress has been a good friend to you and you have lived here for a while now. I thought you might need time to resolve things here. Are you ready to leave?" he asked, still trying to regain alertness.

"I…you must take Brycan with you. I…cannot come back with you now," she said purposefully.

Now, the Warden was awake. He sat up, panic rising. "What do you mean? Of course you're coming back with me. I told you things are different in Ferelden now. You will not be hunted and our son will be safe. We will teach him how to use his magic wisely and there will be no need for Templars. We will have the protection of the Queen and the Circle. You must trust me in this!" he pleaded with her.

She shook her head. He did not understand. "No, my love, that is not what I'm saying. I cannot accompany you now because there is something I must do first. When it is done, I will come to you, I swear it," she said emotionally.

The Warden relaxed a little. "Then we shall stay here until you are ready to travel. I would keep you with me," he said with finality, unwilling to part with her again.

"No," she said, "You have responsibilities. You should take Brycan and spend some time with him, just the two of you. It will be good for both of you. When I am finished, I will join you. The Old Gods themselves could not keep me from you," she vowed, trying to smile encouragingly. But her apprehension colored her expression, and it did not escape the Warden's notice.

"Morrigan," he said, eyes narrowed, "I know you are keeping something from me. If we are to have any chance of a life together we must be honest with one another. There can be no more lies between us. Not ever. Do you understand?"

She looked pained, and lowered her head, nodding.

"What is this task that you must do, that I cannot bear witness to?" the Warden demanded.

Morrigan raised her head, and looked directly into his eyes, "I…I must go after Flemeth."

It dawned on the Warden before she could even answer what her plans were. Flemeth! "No!" he practically shouted. "Morrigan, it's madness to go after her alone!"

She did not shrink from his gaze. She knew the danger, but there was no other way, in her mind. Flemeth would be livid over the Old God's loss. And the dreams Morrigan had experienced, the dreams where she did not seem herself, were now clear to her – it had been Flemeth in her body speaking to the ancient Being. Morrigan knew Flemeth's only remaining goal was to take her body from her, and Flemeth would not stop until she had completed her task. If her Warden and Brycan were in the way…Morrigan shook her head. She could not permit them to be hurt because of her, no matter the cost. She must go after Flemeth alone. Morrigan had seen her power increase over the years, and she felt that she had a chance to defeat her mother. She had also learned much from Flemeth's and the Black Grimoires, and the Circle libraries. She was hopeful.

"'Tis what I must do. I do not believe Flemeth has any further plans for you, and if you take Brycan back to Ferelden, you will both be safe. When I have dealt with her, I will come to you. This is how it must be, for if I do not end this now, she will watch and wait and strike when I am not prepared. And you and Brycan could be slain. I will not allow this to happen. Surely, you see the logic in this, do you not?" she appealed.

"You have no chance against Flemeth alone, Morrigan. She survived our attack and there were four of us. I will go with you. Together, we might end her miserable existence. Celene and Wynne will look after the boy until we return," he insisted.

"Do not be a fool, Ryder. Brycan will need one of us. Flemeth has no interest in you, 'tis me she wants. I am the one who must go, and I must go alone. I will track her down, or she will find me. Either way, it will end. My magic has grown much stronger since the last time you and I fought together. I believe I can destroy her," she announced with a conviction she did not really feel.

They spent this night arguing instead of making love, and, when he had finally convinced her to let him help her hunt down the old witch, they fell asleep in each other's arms, exhausted.

The first shaft of sunlight temporarily blinded him the next morning. He raised his hand to block it out, and when his eyes had adjusted, he saw she no longer lay beside him. And he knew that she had gone after Flemeth.


	25. Chapter 25

25.

"Something Wicked This Way Comes"

Morrigan had told no one of her plans, certain they would all try to dissuade her from this risky venture. And she was right. If the Empress had known what she was up to, she would have done everything in her power to convince her friend not to try it. Celene had been shocked when the Warden told her that the sorceress had set out alone after Flemeth. She thought back to the night before, when Morrigan had come to speak to her and Roget, who was still recovering from his injuries.

"I…wished to say goodbye," Morrigan had said haltingly, "and …offer my thanks…to both of you for all that you have done. I am not accustomed to using the word friend…but you have both been such to me. I…will miss your company. And I am greatly pleased you two have decided to end your foolishness and be together. Fare you well."

Celene had come up to her and embraced her. "And I am thrilled for you, as well. You finally have your Warden back. You are returning to Ferelden, yes?" she had inquired. The Empress had known this day was coming, but it saddened her, nonetheless.

Morrigan had paused before responding. "The Warden has many responsibilities he must attend to, and has to return to Ferelden," she had finally said, carefully wording her answer.

"Ah, I shall miss you, Morrigan. Your brass and wit are not easily found at my Court. And you have done much to improve the defenses of my country for which I am grateful. You have looked after my interests and protected me against treachery. I have come to trust you as no other in my domain, save my Roget. I…consider you a sister," Celene had said wistfully.

Morrigan winced imperceptibly. "I, too, have valued our time together. But I…must follow a different path now. Paul will watch over you in my place," she had answered.

Roget came up beside Celene and slid his arm about her waist. "I can assure you, I will let no harm come to our beloved Empress, ever. You can rely on me to protect her with my life. Luck be with you, Morrigan," he'd offered, grasping her hand warmly in farewell.

"But, of course, Orlais is on excellent terms with Ferelden now. I consider Anora a friend also. We will visit as often my duties permit, and you must do the same. I would see Brycan grow strong and healthy. We will see each other again, Morrigan, I am sure of it," Celene had promised optimistically.

Morrigan hesitated. "Perhaps. It is my wish, as well. Take care, my friends," she said before turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Celene had thought Morrigan's behavior strange for a parting, though she had always given her the benefit of the doubt based on her childhood. But her friend had seemed agitated, uneasy…more than sorrowful. Now, of course, it made sense. She was saying a more final goodbye. And the Empress was filled with dread.

-----

Impulsive, headstrong, stubborn Morrigan. She had always been that way, and he supposed she always would be. The Warden sighed. He looked at the ring on his finger mournfully and began twisting it nervously. He smiled briefly thinking it might as well have been a wedding band for how religiously he wore it. The only time it had left his finger was when he lay unconscious on the battlefield and it had been stolen from him. Would that he could use it to find Morrigan, for he feared for her life greatly. Her magic might be stronger, as she thought, but Flemeth was still the most powerful known being in Thedas. Sadly, the ring had never worked that way, at least not for him. **He** had never been able to get more than a feeling from it. It was an emotional connection to Morrigan, not a way to track her. He kept returning to the note that she had left him:

_Ryder,_

_Forgive me, my love, for this one last deception, but there was no other way. I have asked for your mabari's help to track Flemeth, but I will send him back as soon as I know her whereabouts. The hound is a good and true friend to you and I would not see him harmed. I know my mother must be near, for her own body grows decrepit and she has need of mine. She will be lingering at a safe distance, I am certain of it, and she knows I will come for her. We shall find her soon and end this._

_Our son needs you. I see that now, and I was wrong not to do something about it sooner. You are a far better example for him than I could ever be. You will teach him all the things that I could not. He will learn what it means to be a great man, like his father. Stay with Brycan and protect him. As you have always been there for me, be there for him now._

_I am sorry for leaving without proper goodbyes, but you would not let it be so. If there is a way possible, I will come back to you. But if I do not return, do not seek me out, for it will be Flemeth you find. After everything we've been through, you must understand, I could not let any harm come to you. I love you, my Grey Warden._

_Always,_  
_Morrigan_

The Warden re-read it over and over, and felt his panic rising. He couldn't just sit by and do nothing. He had to try to find her…to help her. He truly believed it would take both of them to defeat Flemeth…if they **could** defeat Flemeth. He thought of his son, and the same anxiety that tore at him when Morrigan was to be burned at the stake, now ate at his conscience. Flemeth was all that stood in the way of their happiness now. They could be a family and they could at last find peace and contentment together. If not for the old Witch of the Wilds. No, he could not allow Morrigan to attempt this on her own. He had to find her first, before she found Flemeth.

If only the ring would work in reverse. Wynne came into his mind. She was a great mage in her own right, and with the tomes and the knowledge available to them in Val Royeaux…perhaps the Circle of Magi here could help them alter the ring somehow, as Morrigan had modified it to trace him. He was desperate, and he could think of no other way to find Morrigan quickly. Time was of the essence and they were running out of it. He set out to find the Spirit Healer.

-----

Wynne came rushing into the Warden's room to find him pacing. "I think we have something!" she cried, panting.

His heart swelled. "What is it? Can we use the ring to find Morrigan?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, it's not perfect," Wynne said guiltily, fearing she had raised his hopes too high, "But, time is critical now, and you must find her quickly before Flemeth does. We found a way to use Morrigan's unique abilities to help track her. She has very strong ties to the Fade, more so than any other mage I've encountered. We can use this to track her movements through the Fade. My Spirit of Faith will guide you."

"I don't understand. The Fade is the realm of dreams and death. How can we use it to find her?" the Warden asked, confused.

"This is the drawback. We can only find her while she is in the Fade, while she is asleep. We have temporarily bound my Faith Spirit to your ring. She will feel Morrigan's presence and guide your direction as long as Morrigan sleeps. Thus you will have to move at night, and quickly, for when she wakes, the ties to the Fade will be broken and Morrigan's movements will be lost to you until she next finds sleep. You must move faster in order to overtake her before she finds Flemeth. This is all we could do for you quickly. But you have a chance. Pray that Morrigan sleeps long and often, Warden, for that is where your best hope lies," Wynne said encouragingly.

"Thank you, Wynne, Maker bless you. It is something, and before, I had nothing. I will use it to find her. I must. Give your Spirit of Faith my thanks for everything she has done for us. And tell her not to alert Morrigan that I am coming, for she does not wish to be found and will try to elude me. There is no time for that. I know your Spirit feels a certain loyalty to Morrigan now, but make it clear we are trying to help her…you must make her understand," he said anxiously.

Wynne nodded sadly. It grieved her to see the Warden this distraught. She could hardly have imagined when she first met them, that these two so disparate young people could come to be so inextricably bound. But there was much that had transpired since the day she became involved in their lives she could not have imagined. "I will tell her, but I think she already knows this. I believe my Spirit is equally frightened for Morrigan. Flemeth is a name that conjures fear even in the Fade," she said.

"You and Celene…you will look out for my son until we return? And if…" he paused, giving her a meaningful look, "you will help Brycan with his magic? To control it?"

"Of course, he will be well taken care of, Warden, rest assured. But we have no need to speak of such things. You will find Morrigan and defeat Flemeth and you will both return safely to raise your son together. I have every confidence. Now, we must begin making preparations for your journey. From now on, the night is your friend. You must get some rest. The sun will be setting soon, and we will watch the ring for signs of Morrigan's entry into the Fade. All will be ready for you when we awaken you," Wynne announced with authority.

The Warden's anxiety would not let sleep find him easily, and when it came at last, it was troubled and fitful. Visions of Flemeth and dragons and blood haunted his dreams, and always Morrigan lay dead in his arms at the end of them. When he finally awoke, it was dark. The Fade had been no friend to him this day, ousting him after but a few hours. He prayed that Morrigan would find it kinder and it would hold her longer. And he went to reclaim his ring and await the slumber of his love.

-----

Ryder had been staring at the ring so long, wishing it to life, that he fairly jumped when it began to glow. The Warden gathered his things and flew to his stallion, galloping wildly in the direction the ring beckoned him. Wynne and Roget had wanted to join the Warden, and Celene had offered Templars and Chevaliers, but the Warden felt a group of witch hunters would only drive Flemeth to ground, that she would simply avoid confrontation and evade them until she could catch Morrigan alone. But he could go. The Warden knew Flemeth would not avoid him, for she would surely relish the chance to mete out her revenge. The moon was high in the sky at that point, and he cursed it. Morrigan had not found sleep easily either, he thought grimly. He must press harder. He prayed there was enough time to find her this night. If not, he would do the same every night until he did. He could only hope he would not be too late.

-----

The Warden had thought he was close twice, but each time his hopes began to rise, the ring would frustratingly go dark. She was awake, and he would have to wait until the next night. Every day she would widen the distance between them. He wondered if Morrigan had shapeshifted so that she and Hunter would make better time. The Warden began to fear his great stallion would not hold up, for he was driving it hard in his desperation. He finally realized he would never catch her if he continued to chase her, for she was making better time and she traveled more than she slept. He had to find a way to close the gap.

The sixth night he made a decision that might mean he would find her…or never see her again. She had tracked the same direction for the past three days, and he thought that if she stayed on the same general path, he had a chance to cut her off if he plotted a course ahead of her. He took a deep breath when the ring began to glow and raced his steed ahead of her perceived route, praying she would not change her heading, and this would not be the night Flemeth found her.

The next night found him much closer. The Warden exulted when the ring sprang to life, and the glow was so bright he had to turn away until his eyes adjusted. He would find her this night, he felt it.

-----

Hunter had led Morrigan to Flemeth. They had lain on the hillside overlooking her encampment that same day. Morrigan tried to decide what to do. She was filled with anger as she glared at her mother - the woman who had raised her and trained her and manipulated her so expertly…and who now wanted to kill her soul. She was nearly overwhelmed with rage when she thought of her son, and had to suppress the urge to attack Flemeth then. But she was exhausted, and had yet to formulate a plan she felt would ensure success. So she had decided to wait and watch for her opportunity and strategy to develop.

Morrigan and the mabari withdrew to a secluded spot far enough away from Flemeth's camp they could not be discovered. She prepared for a cold night, knowing she would be unable to light a fire, and called the hound to her. Morrigan knelt down and spoke to the animal looking into its eyes, "I need you to watch her this night for me. She must not be allowed to escape me. Tonight, I will sleep and gather my strength for what is to come, and at dawn, I will attack her while she is weak and disoriented from slumber. That is when you must return to your master. There will be no time for goodbyes then, so I will say what I must now. You are a good and loyal companion to Ryder, and I would ask that you look after our son as you did his father," she entreated him.

Hunter whined softly, his ears drooping. He licked her hand.

Morrigan smiled sadly, and embraced the mabari. "You have always known my feelings, noble beast, have you not?" she said affectionately, hoping she might one day see the dog again.

Hunter nuzzled her, and whimpered.

"No," she responded, "you have my thanks for helping me find Flemeth, but 'tis between her and me now. I do not wish you to be hurt. You are needed elsewhere. Now, please, I…am not good at these sorts of things. Go now, and watch Flemeth. I will relieve you at daybreak. If she moves before dawn, you must warn me."

The mabari pushed his head under her hand until she sighed, and scratched him between the ears one last time. Then he licked her again and trotted away to keep watch over Flemeth.

"Fool dog," Morrigan murmured, smiling fondly as he ran off.

She thought again about her decision. There were no good choices. If she had allowed the Warden to come with her and they failed, Flemeth would most certainly slay him. If the Warden took her son back to Ferelden and she failed in her bid to kill the old witch, Morrigan believed Flemeth would go her own way, choosing to forgo revenge for the anonymous safety of her new body and whatever malignant mischief she could conjure in it. But even if this proved not to be the case, Ryder and Brycan would be surrounded by Grey Wardens, mages, and Templars to help defend them. And Morrigan knew in her heart that Ryder would recognize Flemeth. He would know it was not her and would not let himself be tricked by Flemeth in Morrigan-form. He **knew **her. Her Warden knew her, she told herself. The lump that had risen in her throat made it hard for her to swallow. No, she had made the right decision. Their chances of survival were much higher if they returned to Ferelden.

Morrigan sighed. She knew he would not understand. She knew he would not agree. She could only hope that her Warden would accept it…but she didn't really think he would do that, either.

She ate quickly, and settled down to sleep early, knowing she would need all her strength and energy the next day. She lay awake for a time after the sun had set, not from fear or anxiety, but beset by her memories. She replayed her own history with her son and her Warden over and over in her head, trying to preserve that which was agreeable, hoping it would sustain her on the morrow. Morrigan wondered if the Fade would be good to her that night, and let her relive any of her cherished moments, perhaps for the last time. Finally, she fell asleep, exhaustion winning out over emotion.

-----

Morrigan awoke in a panic, disoriented, a hand clasped over her mouth, warm breath on her cheek. She was pinned to the ground, unable to move, unable to defend herself. Damn it! How had she let herself get waylaid in this manner? She must have been more fatigued than she thought not to have heard the brigand's approach. Not now…when she was so close to her final goal! She struggled violently to free herself.

"Shhhhh! Shhhhh! Morrigan, my love, it is me, Ryder," she heard the man whisper in her ear. And she stopped fighting, her senses in shock at the recognition of his voice. Her eyes widened as she grasped the meaning of it. Morrigan threw him off of her, still in disbelief, but as the moonlight finally caught his face, she saw it was him. Her Warden.

The Warden scrambled to his feet, stunned. "I'm sorry I frightened you, I did not wish you to cry out and give away your position should Flemeth be nearby," he said softly.

For a moment, she hesitated, her fear and anger at war with her passion. She stood and shook her head, as if to clear it of the wildly conflicting emotions that raced through her. To see him again, if only one last time, made her heart soar with gratitude and love…but he was **here**, and that meant he had ignored her entreaties and had come to fight at her side against Flemeth. And, quite possibly, perish there.

"'Tis twice now I have asked you not to follow me, and yet, twice you pursue. Perhaps you have disrespected my wishes because you think me a simpleton, incapable of making intelligent decisions," she chided, folding her arms.

"And why must you constantly be running away from me? You are an incredibly exasperating woman! How are we supposed to build a life together when I cannot count on you to stay at my side?" he retorted angrily.

"I did not **leave** you! I told you I would return when this was finished! I…'tis not like before…I wanted to stay…I told you this. But we could not live under the cloud of Flemeth's ever-present threat. We could not wait for **her** to strike. You **must** see that, surely. Do you not think that I have thought this through a hundred times? Do you not think that were there any other way I would leap at it? I do not **wish** you to die at my side, you courageous fool! Why must you multiply the difficulty of what I must do a thousandfold?" Morrigan chastised him, her anger melting into anguish.

The distress on her face was too much for the Warden to bear and he crossed the space between them and gathered her in his arms. "I could not let you go. I can never let you go. I understand your reasons. I understand your logic. But you must understand that I will not let you face death alone while I draw breath. Do not ask it of me, for I cannot honor that request. We must face the good and bad together. That is what it means to love someone," he said earnestly.

She looked at her Warden intensely. In truth, she would have been surprised if he had not found a way to come for her, for it was exactly the kind of thing she had come to expect from him…fierce love and loyalty. Bravery and determination in the face of certain death. Yet somehow, he had always managed to escape it. Perhaps he might yet avoid death once more. She prayed it would be so. Morrigan surrendered, and clutched him to her, choking back her tears. "Ryder," she managed, her voice thick with emotion.

"Morrigan," he whispered ardently, "thank the Maker, I am not too late."

He held her for a few moments, before his fighting sense returned to him. "Where is Hunter? He should be keeping watch over you," he said, annoyed at his faithful mabari for abandoning his post.

Morrigan corrected him, "No, my Warden, he is where I sent him. We have found my mother and he is watching Flemeth's encampment to make sure she does not escape. For 'tis my plan to attack her at daybreak. But I needed rest before I could face her."

"Flemeth, here?" the Warden asked alarmed, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

"No, we withdrew to a secure distance to avoid discovery. We are safe here," she said softly. Morrigan looked at the sky. Dawn would break soon. The reddish hint of sunrise tinged the skyline, ending any hope of more time together. She leaned in to kiss him, pulling him to her and holding him a moment longer before succumbing to the dreaded task in front of them.

"We must go, now, before Flemeth can gain her senses," she said solemnly, finally releasing him from her embrace.

He nodded, and they made their way towards Flemeth and the end game.

-----

They found Hunter faithfully watching the camp where Flemeth slept, and sending him back to Val Royeaux to watch over Brycan, they approached the old witch's tent, prepared for battle. Suddenly, a mocking voice cackled from behind them, "Ah, at last all the players are here. Now, the game can begin in earnest. I thought perhaps you might not make our little party, Warden. I have been waiting for you to make your move, my dear, but I'm giddy you chose to delay. It will be so much more enjoyable watching you suffer while I dismember your precious Grey Warden."

Morrigan said coldly, "No, Mother, 'tis you who will die this day. I am far more powerful than I was when last you saw me. And with the Warden at my side…"

Flemeth laughed at her, cutting her off, "Foolish girl, do you not think I have planned and waited for this moment? I **know** you are more powerful…far more powerful than I ever dreamed you would become when I slaughtered your parents and stole you away as a small child. I raised you as my own, prepared you in anticipation of this moment. You will make a superior new host for me." She gloated, hands on her hips, relishing Morrigan's devastated reaction to her words.

Morrigan gasped, flooded with a thousand emotions…grief at the loss of the parents she could not remember, sorrow for the loss of the life she might have had, and outrage at the monster that stood before her, that she had once called Mother. So she was not even born of Flemeth. In truth, she had wondered at the prospect, for they bore no resemblance to one another and Flemeth had always treated her with callous indifference - more a servant than a daughter, with the harshness reserved for one that was resented, yet needed, nonetheless. But, of course, in her isolation, the young sorceress knew nothing else. Morrigan's efforts to win Flemeth's approval almost always met with failure, and she had longed for something…more. It was the Warden that had given her that something more. She had not known until she had given birth to Brycan what it **should** be like between a mother and child. And it had never been so with Flemeth. But this revelation would make things easier. Any vestige of feeling, of regret she might have had for trying to kill the woman who raised her was gone now.

The Warden was at her side then, and clasped her hand in support. Morrigan looked at him with tears in her eyes. For a moment, her mind flashed back to that fateful night in the Brecilian Forest when she had taken Ryder's hand in a similar fashion to bolster him in his time of emotional crisis.

"I have been watching you over the years in some form, casting spells, manipulating you and your Warden," Flemeth continued, satisfied with the grief she had inflicted on them.

She was only too happy to taunt them with her genius in destroying their lives. Flemeth told them of the night she cast the spell in the Brecilian Forest that insured Morrigan's pregnancy. She tormented the Warden by revealing her spells of anger and confusion that had driven them apart at South Reach when the ring had almost reunited them. Morrigan and the Warden exchanged pained looks then, knowing this last terrible separation had been brought about by Flemeth's machinations. Flemeth told them everything she had done to them, savoring and admiring her own brilliance in guiding and controlling events. But then, she thought of her failure with the Old God. The old witch had not been with Morrigan when she had sought help from Wynne at the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad. Flemeth had been unprepared for the exorcism attempt, prompting her to try to steal off with the child before the Old God could be destroyed.

And the Warden's intervention in her schemes had thwarted her plans repeatedly. A fury welled up in her. Her eyes narrowed to slits of venomous, cold rage. "You have cost me much Warden, and you will pay dearly for it," she hissed at him menacingly.

Then she turned to Morrigan, her mood shifting, madness dancing in her eyes. "Who will suffer more, I wonder, my dear, you or your lover? What to do? What to do? 'Tis a quandary," she sang more to herself than Morrigan.

Before they could react, Flemeth had morphed into her high dragon form, flailing and swinging her massive tail. She knocked Morrigan away, careful not to hurt her, and concentrated her attack on the Warden. She meant to tear him limb from limb, to rend his flesh, and burn him alive…whatever she could to increase his physical suffering…and Morrigan's emotional distress.

The Warden's first instinct was to race to Morrigan's side, but he recognized Flemeth's strategy and resisted his impulses. Flemeth needed him out of the way, and Morrigan unhurt if she was to take over the younger woman's body. She would try to minimize the damage Morrigan took until she could possess her. It was the only thing that gave the Warden hope. He could attack Flemeth with full force without immediate fear for Morrigan's life. The Warden and Morrigan fell into their old patterns seamlessly, he barking out orders and she casting and healing, both always moving, dodging, rolling. For a time, it seemed they might be weakening Flemeth, but at last, it became apparent that she was toying with them, and the old witch had inflicted far more damage than they.

Fatigue began to set in and the Warden's legs felt less responsive. Finally, he could dodge her tail no more and it crashed into his chest, breaking ribs and propelling him across the clearing into a massive fallen tree. He felt sharp, shooting pain in his chest. His breathing was agonizingly labored, and he heard himself gurgle as blood escaped his lips. He was stunned. This was not broken ribs. Those he had experienced before. In shock, he calmly looked down and saw the great jagged branch protruding from his punctured chest, rivers of blood pouring from the wound. Maker, no! Morrigan…I have failed you, he thought. He slumped, and gritting his teeth, pushed himself forward, freeing himself from the spike and falling to his knees, clutching his chest.

Morrigan regained her footing and scanned the scene wondering why Flemeth had seemingly stopped her attack. And then she saw him…impaled on a thick branch, bleeding out. Her heart stopped. "Ryder!" she screamed in horror. She raced to his side, tearing open a healing potion and forcing it down his throat as she fell to her knees and frantically pressed her hands into his gushing wound, casting healing incantations. It was a terrible injury. Her Warden was losing too much blood too fast. The tears began streaming down her face. She did not have time...Morrigan watched as the color drained from his face. She frenetically murmured spell after spell, pouring potions into him, knowing Flemeth was at her back, and not caring.

Flemeth cackled with glee across the clearing behind her, as she returned to human form. She reveled in the pain she was causing, taunting Morrigan, "It's over, my child. You have lost. Your pathetic efforts to heal him will not change the outcome. I will take you and there is naught you can do. You have destroyed my plans for the Old God but you will not deny me this. Shall we finish this dance now? Come, girl, let us end this. I do not wish to do any damage to my new body." And she laughed a cold and vicious laugh.

Morrigan looked helplessly into her Warden's eyes, knowing in her heart they could not defeat her mother directly now. But all her spells had stabilized Ryder, and though his wound was severe and had left him greatly weakened, she took comfort in knowing he would live…if she acted now.

She stood and turned to face Flemeth, resolute and defiant. "Very well, I will fight you no more. I will give over my body to you on one condition: that you let the Warden and my son live. No harm shall come to them, and they will be free of you forever," she offered, her head held high.

The Warden gasped, "No! Morrigan, no! You can't! I won't allow it!" He struggled to rise, but was unable to do so.

Morrigan turned back to him, and smiled a sad, encouraging smile. "You are in no condition to stop me, my love. I am sorry. This is how it must be," she said softly.

Morrigan whirled to face Flemeth, glaring. "Is it agreed?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Flemeth began to dance about madly, sensing her moment of triumph was finally within her grasp. "Agreed, agreed, your body I need!" she chanted in a sing-song tone.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "I would say goodbye to him first," she demanded, leaving no room for discussion.

Flemeth relented, indifferent to this last delay. She was close now, so close.

Morrigan turned back to her Warden, eyes shining. There was so much she wanted to say, but there was no time.

"Please don't do this, Morrigan. I love you. Do not give up, we can defeat her still," the Warden entreated, not believing his own words.

"Take care of our son. Let him know I loved him. And you, my beloved Grey Warden, know that I have always loved you," she said emotionally. Then she kissed him with a passionate finality, threw her arms about his neck, and held him close.

He clutched her tightly, unable to fathom his life without her…without the hope of ever being with her again. Suddenly, he heard Morrigan whispering desperately in his ear.

"Flemeth will not keep her word, Ryder. You must behead her the moment her soul leaves her body to enter mine. Deal your blow when she is surrounded by a bright red aura…before she enters my body and regains corporeal form. You must succeed or we are both lost," she entreated. She had not wanted it to go this far, to let Flemeth get this close to taking possession of her, but she had gleaned from the Grimoires and the Circle of Val Royeaux libraries, that there was still a chance to stop Flemeth if the process could be interrupted at the right moment. The spell was not complete until Flemeth's soul had taken possession of her body, when her own soul would be destroyed. Until then, Morrigan's body belonged to her. If Flemeth was struck down while her spirit was between forms, the spell would be broken, and with no body to inhabit, the old witch would cease to exist. It meant risking everything, for if it failed, she would be Flemeth's. But there was no choice now. They had not been able to triumph over her in battle, and this trick was Morrigan's only hope…and the Warden's, for Flemeth would surely kill Ryder if she was able to take Morrigan's body.

The Warden tried not to react to Morrigan's words with Flemeth watching, but his mind raced. What if he mistimed his strike? If he struck too early, Flemeth would retaliate, killing him and ending any chance Morrigan might have to save herself. But there was no time to debate on it now. He had to trust Morrigan and follow her instructions.

She pulled away from him slowly, her hand caressing the face she loved so dearly, and she stood, turning to face Flemeth with icy determination. "I am ready," she said to Flemeth, walking away from the Warden, leading the woman she had called her mother to the other side of the clearing.

Flemeth had dismissed the Warden as a threat for he seemed so weak. He was unable to stand, much less be a danger to her, she had thought derisively. She arrogantly turned to face her "daughter", offering the Warden her back as proof of her disdain for his ability to stop her. "Soon, my lovely, there will be only Flemeth. Flemeth will be Morrigan and Morrigan will be no more-again," she mocked, laughing wildly.

Morrigan willed herself not to look at the Warden and give him away as he frantically downed every health potion he had, to give him the strength he would soon need. She stared at the old witch with steely eyes. "Get on with it then, Flemeth, I tire of your foolish prattle," she said through gritted teeth.

Flemeth's gleeful expression turned into a cold sneer. "Very well, then, my dear. Goodbye, my child," she said devoid of emotion. She raised her arms and began an incantation.

Within seconds, a bright white light surrounded them both. The Warden stripped away his chestplate, to ease his burden and boost his speed. He mustered all his strength to stand, propping himself against a tree, and drawing Starfang slowly, quietly, he made ready to strike. The glow was changing, swirling, hues developing. He felt light-headed and began to fear he would black out before he could attack, but when he saw the agonized look on Morrigan's face as the light enveloped her, his resolve hardened and he fought through his own weakness. With his last ounce of strength, the Warden charged the old witch as soon as the glow reddened, sword grasped in both hands. Offering one last plea to the Maker, he swung the weapon with all his might and lopped off the head of the old Witch of the Wilds.

Morrigan arched her back suddenly, and the body that had belonged to Flemeth crashed to the ground lifeless. But as the old crone's body crumpled to the earth, so too, did that of Morrigan. Horrified, the Warden rushed to the side of his beloved, cradling her in his arms, begging her not to leave him again. "Come back to me, Morrigan, please, come back," he whispered in her ear, rocking her. There was no movement, no sign of life, and no health potions left.

Suddenly, Morrigan inhaled sharply, drawing air into her lungs as though life had left her and returned. The Warden was overjoyed at first, but realized he did not yet know which woman he held in his arms. It was Ryder's turn to hold his breath. Was it her? Was it Morrigan?

Her eyes struggled to open and finally cleared, resting on his face. He peered at her intensely, hoping to read some sign of his beloved sorceress and not the malicious old witch. The Warden was not sure if the look he saw on her face was one of relief or satisfaction, and he felt his anxiety rising. Morrigan's lips parted to speak, and the Warden felt his heart skip a beat.

"Perhaps," she began softly, "my beloved rogue, I could bake **some** bread, on occasion, as long as I am not otherwise occupied with darkspawn and Old Gods."

And he knew it was **his** Morrigan. He laughed, trying to hold back his emotion. "And perhaps I can paint the shed from time to time, when I am not slaying archdemons and abominations," he offered as his part of the bargain.

Morrigan's brow furrowed and she teased him, "Do not be ridiculous. 'Tis common knowledge you must paint regularly in harsh climes. I will not permit you to shirk your husbandly duties."

The Warden started, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Did you just ask me to marry you?" he asked incredulously.

"Not if you are planning in advance to escape your marital responsibilities. And do not think to impress me with your stature as Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. 'Twill not entitle you to ignore that which is expected of you at home. **I** have known you since you were but a fledgling recruit, and I will not tolerate such obvious attempts to evade your obligations. 'Tis not a good example to set for your son. You must consider these things when raising a child. If this is not acceptable to you, then I shall withdraw the offer and we shall speak no more of it," Morrigan said in mock capriciousness.

The Warden laughed. "No, no, do not withdraw the offer. I vow not to shirk my husbandly duties…any of them," he said devilishly. "Though I hardly think the darkspawn care much about the condition of our shed," he added, grinning mischievously.

She pretended indignation, "Hmmph! Then they are impractical fools and I shall tell them so when I dispatch them. 'Tis no excuse for you, though. You shall still have to paint. The weather can be inhospitable in Highever…" Her face softened and she smiled. "Or perhaps Amaranthine, if you prefer? Or Warden's Keep?" she offered agreeably.

The Warden studied her before responding, "It matters not. **You** are my keep, my love. Where you are, I will be. You are my tower…my home, and I will always find my way back to you. Anywhere you go, Morrigan. Anywhere," he whispered, holding her tighter.

"Always," Morrigan murmured, smiling. And she kissed him.

-----

Far away to the west, past the Gamordan Peaks, but before the Sea of Ash, in a massive cavern far beneath the Sulfur Lakes, an ancient dragon awoke roaring in pain. Razikale, the Old God of Mystery, writhed and twisted in confusion. As its tainted eyes cleared, it looked about wildly at the horde of strange creatures that surrounded it. One of the creatures stepped forward. "We have heard your call, and we are here to serve," it said. With that, the thousands of darkspawn that filled the cave fell to one knee, heads bowed in homage. Razikale felt a kinship, and an overwhelming desire to destroy.

THE END

_Author's note: Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know your final thoughts about the overall story!_


End file.
